


Been Away Too Long

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azazel's Special Children, BAMF Sam Winchester, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Psychic Sam, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Temporary Character Death - Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 80,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - canon divergence.  When Dean showed up at Stanford to collect Sam and find their father, he reconsidered his choice and went to Jericho alone.  The brothers never reunited; nothing happened as Heaven or Hell intended.  Five years later, a new threat from the Abyss emerges and Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is tasked to bring the Righteous Man back together with the Boy With The Demon Blood once again.  </p><p>He's pretty sure that what happens next isn't what his Heavenly superiors had in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't be frightened by the "Major Character Death" tag; it happens early on and he gets over it. More or less.
> 
> Also, special thanks to my awesome beta, SweetSamOfMine!

John Winchester disappeared from Jericho, California sometime in what was probably mid-October 2005. No one was sure precisely when he disappeared because he’d spent twenty-two years making sure that no one knew precisely where he’d been at any given time. His last check-in with his son Dean – the only son he acknowledged having and the eldest of three – had been in early October, before he even got to Jericho.

John had sent Dean on his own solo hunt in New Orleans. It wasn’t as though he was sending Dean on some candy run busywork case – a voodoo case was nothing to turn up your nose at, a man had to keep his head in the game or he’d wind up a zombie or worse – but he checked in regularly with his father. Neither of them had a regular hunting partner after all, so this was the only way that anyone would know if one or the other needed help. It had been Dean’s idea. John had groused about it but he’d finally relented “so long as it doesn’t interfere with the job. You weren’t supposed to be hunting alone, son.” 

And it was true. The plan had never been for Dean to hunt alone. He’d had a brother, a younger brother who had been reared up to have Dean’s back. He’d fought the life every step of the way and finally he’d walked away from them, leaving Dean with no backup and their family fractured. But that was okay. He was doing just fine without Sammy. Maybe the brat didn’t need him but Dad did, so he kept checking in with Dad whenever they were apart even though it annoyed the old man to no end. He wasn’t going to lose any more family.

In mid-October Dad missed a check-in. Dean didn’t panic. He finished up his job, proving that it didn’t matter how powerful a voudoun you were, you still went down when you got a bullet to the back of the head, and he called his father again. And again. He called a few of his father’s contacts. Nothing. 

On the first day of the last full week of October, Dean received a voicemail. The call went straight to voicemail which was strange since he’d left his ringer on, but that was okay. The voice mail was the one he had been waiting for – word from his father. The message had been so garbled by interference and EVP that most of it proved to be incomprehensible. His father sounded a lot less like himself, that much was easily distinguished. Dean had never heard him so scared before. He could make out “something big,” and “brother,” followed by “all in danger.” With that much EVP Dean was pretty sure that the person in the most immediate danger was his father. You just didn’t get that much electronic interference from a lower-level ghost or minor spirit. This wasn’t something he could handle alone. John had mentioned his brother. He had to have meant for Dean to go fetch Sam and enlist his aid, right? The kid might have been unwilling but he’d still had an uncanny knack for some things; Dad must have wanted to make use of those talents now. He hadn’t had much use for them when Sam had been with them but hey – who was Dean to judge? 

He aimed the Impala, his Baby, west and started the five-day drive toward Palo Alto. 

He arrived on a Friday night. He pulled up outside Sam’s building just as the younger Winchester was leaving with two others, a shorter dark-skinned man dressed as a zombie and a blonde who, in the high heels of her Sexy Nurse costume, was close to being as tall as he was and wasn’t that a feat. They held hands, albeit a little bit distantly. He thought he saw Sam glance back when he pulled in but the blonde said something to him and he turned back.

He considered breaking into their apartment while they were gone, just to get a feel for what was going on with Sam in the two years since he’d seen him, but decided against it. There were too many people around, too many milling college students with unpredictable schedules and unpredictable degrees of attention paid to the world around them. Who knew but that his across-the-hall neighbor didn’t have some kind of creepy tall-and-shaggy-guy crush? 

It was three or four hours before Sam and Hot Blonde came back – alone, he noticed, so Zombie Guy was not the roommate. Blonde had seemed to be leading him away from the apartment before; now they walked closer together. They both smiled and laughed a little shyly under the streetlamp, and then Sam reached out and drew Hot Blonde closer to him. She smiled up at him and he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. 

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Where had his baby brother learned to kiss like that? It was like he could suck her soul out through her mouth, and she would enjoy every minute of it. She gave as good as she got of course. Was kissing supposed to be like this? In public? Dean Winchester was no prude. There weren’t many things he hadn’t done with women, but seriously – this just seemed inappropriate. He wanted to throw a bucket of cold water on them; only it would turn to steam as soon as it touched them. Maybe he could just use that water on himself then. He tugged at his collar. Since when had Sammy had game like that?

They pulled apart after what seemed like hours but was probably just minutes. Dean couldn’t miss the way Sam glanced around himself as he let them into the building, vigilant even in the face of… whatever that had been. Then they disappeared into the building. 

Dean waited for a while. He’d planned to break into the apartment and wake Sam, bring him with him to go find Dad. In his head it had all worked out so nicely – Sam and Dean together the way it had been meant to be from the beginning. Sam, after a weekend’s adventuring with Dean, would realize that academia was stupid and he wasn’t supposed to be sitting around in some ivory tower reading stupid textbooks. He was supposed to be fighting evil at Dean’s back, on the road, sun on his face and the wind in his stupid floppy hair. Forever. He hadn’t counted on the girl. He hadn’t counted on a hot girl who could lead him around to parties or whatever for Halloween even though Sam had hated Halloween since the dawn of freaking time. He hadn’t counted on an apartment – a probably-crappy student apartment but an apartment, the same apartment he’d had the last time Dean had seen him years ago. It was a permanent address, exactly what he’d always wanted. He hadn’t counted on that smile, that look of contentment and joy on Sammy’s face. The kid had everything he’d ever wanted right here. Everything he’d abandoned them for was right here. He had it, and it hadn’t gone south on him. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of.

No way he was getting back into the shotgun seat. Ever. 

With a snarl, Dean started the car again. He drove until he found a crappy motel and then he called Caleb. 

Caleb, as it turned out, was more than willing to help. He was a friend of John’s and a better friend of Dean’s. Just as importantly he was nearby, being in Las Vegas to exorcise wild spirits of a different sort. He made it to Dean’s motel room by sundown the next day. They enjoyed a few beers, maybe more than a few, and then they headed out to Jericho.

Jericho turned out to be a bust. Dad wasn’t in Jericho. He’d left at least two weeks before if the state of the half-eaten cheeseburger left out on the table in his room was any indication. He had left in a hurry, abandoning his hunt and his journal. The job he’d been working on had been an exceptionally stubborn Woman in White. It took three days of research to figure out what they were even looking for before they realized that Dad had left all of the evidence right there on the walls. (Sammy would have figured it out with a glance, he’d have just taken a look at the victimologies and a couple of Dad’s scrawled one-word notes and said “Oh, we’re looking for a Woman in White” and saved them three days’ work but no, he couldn’t be bothered to leave his warm bed and hot girlfriend or whatever.) 

And then there was hunting the thing itself. His car got jacked by the ghost, which sucked and resulted in both him and Caleb having to jump off a freaking bridge and into the stinking muck. Dean got nabbed by the local sheriff, which also sucked and resulted in a daring jailbreak that absolutely no one was around to appreciate. Then they had to find the place where the stupid bitch was buried because of course the cheating bastard she’d married had buried her on the property unmarked and then abandoned the place. It took them three more days and six pits dug before they found her. And naturally – naturally – she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Dean dislocated his shoulder when he got flung into a rusted-out Datsun and Caleb’s bald head got a couple new scars when she tried her little heart attack move on his chrome-shiny dome. 

In the end though they got her, sent her screaming into Hell where her crimes condemned her. Some might say that she’d clearly been out of her right mind but Dean wasn’t buying it. Even if that held true for her actions in life, in the end she’d become a supernatural monster and monsters were evil. They went to Hell, end of story. It had been his life’s work, ever since he was five, to send them there. 

He didn’t think much about Sammy while he was working the case. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was the job. He was focused on trying to put down a monster that was killing people; he didn’t have the bandwidth to devote to brothers who abandoned their families for a girl and an apartment. He did get a phone call that brought the absconding little weasel to the forefront of his mind, on November 4. That was just after the Dean’s unappreciated daring jailbreak and the second day of digging up the old Welch place, and Dean was feeling tired and sore and more than a little bit underappreciated. So when his phone rang and the caller ID told him it was Sammy he maybe could have been a little more conciliatory. “Now there’s a number I never thought I’d see calling again,” he sneered. “What can you possibly want from us, Sammy?” 

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Um, is this Dean, as in Dean Winchester? Sam’s brother Dean?” The voice belonged to a woman and had more than a hint of strain to it. 

He felt his body go into alert mode. He didn’t want it to go into alert mode; he wanted it to go into shower, whiskey, and sleep mode. “If by brother you mean the guy he ditched to go to some pansy school then yeah. Sure. Who’s this?” Maybe he usually wouldn’t have been quite so snarly to a stranger, but he was tired and cranky and more than a little bitter about spending two days digging up an abandoned property looking for an angry ghost. 

She sounded cooler. “My name is Jess Moore. I’m Sam’s fiancée. There’s –“ 

“Fiancée? Congratulations. That’s awesome. Don’t bother sending an invite. Neither his father nor I will be attending,” he annunciated with an exceptional degree of precision so her giant Stanford brain would be sure to get the point. “See when Sam walked away –“

“Christ, he was right about you. Look, he’s been taken. Attacked and kidnapped.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. He wanted to get in the car and drive back to Palo Alto right then, but he thought back to that kiss. To that apartment. To the night his father told Sam that if he walked out that door he could never come back. “Are the police involved?” 

“What? Of course. The school has already called his ICE contact – a Jim Murphy – but I thought as his brother you’d –“

“I don’t. I don’t want to know about it. And when you find that he ran out on you just like he ran out on us, you come find yourself a real man. Okay?” He hung up the phone. He hadn’t meant to add in the parts about finding a real man. They were gross and they were lewd and they were unnecessary. He’d wanted her to go away and never call again, and he wasn’t exactly a think-things-through kind of guy. He supposed that he’d accomplished his goal pretty thoroughly. 

Fiancée, huh? 

He talked about the call with Caleb briefly. The older man paused from where he was rubbing Icy Hot onto his muscles and made an impressed face. “Boy’s getting married, huh? Well good on him. Hope the cops can find him quick.”

“Yeah. You don’t think –“ 

“What, that all your daddy’s crap about something being after him from when he was a little bitty thing is true? Naw. Things that hunt little kids don’t come after them when they’re grown men, Dean. You know that.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah. Sammy just got sloppy about something.” 

All the same, he called his father when they finished the job in Jericho. He only got voice mail but he left a message anyway. He wasn’t even sure if his father was alive or what when he left it but he was gratified two days later when he got a text message from his father’s phone. Dad didn’t say anything about Sam, he didn’t say anything at all, but he gave coordinates. It was about as good a proof of life as Dean was going to get. 

Dean and John hooked up again a few months later. Dean had picked up on a case involving an old hunter taken out by “wild animals;” John had picked up on the same case. It turned out that the hunter had known John years ago, been friends with him even before a falling-out over something or other. John told him some stories then, about a gun that could kill anything in existence that the decedent might have had in his possession. He told his son about how he’d learned that the thing that had killed their mother was a demon, not just any demon but the most powerful known, and that this gun was the only way to take it down. Why it had taken out perfect, innocent Mary was anyone’s guess. He’d spent years trying to learn about it, but it had grown silent over the years only to re-emerge in 2005. What it wanted was anyone’s guess, but Sam – well, Sam had probably always been part of it. After all, Mary had been in his nursery when she’d been slain but he’d been untouched. And the kid had never been quite right. 

“Do you think the demon got him? His fiancée said he’d been taken but I didn’t ask – she didn’t say much and I kind of hung up on her. I didn’t think it could be anything supernatural,” he admitted, hanging his head. 

“There wasn’t much reason for you to think that,” John sighed. “You wouldn’t remember the things that were after him when he was a boy. That’s why I kept you moving from place to place you know. Because of him. If he hasn’t resurfaced, if he didn’t just take off, then it’s a safe bet that the demon has him.” 

“Well, do we try to get him back, Dad?” Dean rose to his feet, already going to grab his jacket. 

“Son, if Sammy’s with that demon I don’t think there’s going to be anything of the brother you remember left. He won’t be human anymore. He’ll be a monster, the kind of thing you put down. If he survived at all. I hope he didn’t.” His eyes narrowed. “Seems like someone else already got the gun.” He pulled a few strands of long blonde hair out of a drawer. 

When they got to the nest they found all of the vampires slaughtered and no sign of the Colt. 

They hunted together for a while. Signs of this demon – pure evil, with yellow eyes – continued to crop up for about a year. There were reports of other kidnappings and disappearances, young people about the same age Sam would have been, but nothing really unusual stood out about them other than their ages. Dean tried calling Jess Moore back but her phone had been disconnected. Demon signs picked up suddenly around an abandoned graveyard in Wyoming, to the point that beef prices nationwide escalated and The Weather Channel started running specials about wild weather. 

Then, suddenly, they stopped. The trail for the Yellow-Eyed Demon went cold. About a month later Dean got a call from Pastor Jim Murphy, one of his father’s few remaining friends and a good friend throughout his and Sam’s childhoods. “I got a call from Bobby Singer. You won’t need to be worrying about Yellow Eyes anymore,” the priest informed them. His voice was exhausted, but had an undercurrent to it that sounded remarkably like hope. “He’s gone. Permanently.” 

“How?” Dean demanded. “He’s not just going to take it from me.”

“Dean, I don’t even – I can’t begin to understand. If Bobby Singer says he’s dead then he’s dead. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, okay?” 

And Dean was right; Dad didn’t just take his word for it. That didn’t change the fact that they never saw or heard of the thing again. Demonic possessions returned to normal levels – three or four per year as opposed to thirty. Cattle mutilations turned out to be Satan-worshipping teenagers or – once – “vegetarian” vampires trying to avoid human blood instead of a sign of demons coming through. (He and Dad took them out anyway, though, because there was no way that whole “no human blood” thing was going to last. If it was supernatural they killed it. That was how it worked.) 

Eventually even though they still kept an ear to the ground for signs that Yellow Eyes was up to his old tricks they got back to hunting the usual suspects. John died in April 2009, taken out by a Wendigo up in Wisconsin on a hunt gone bad. Dean gave him a proper hunter’s funeral after dragging the body back to Iowa, to Blue Earth, but to be honest there weren’t a lot of mourners. John had the respect of plenty of hunters as a professional but not really as a person. Even Pastor Jim had tolerated him mostly for his sons’ sakes, and of course now there was only one son left. Now that son was free to roam and hunt as he pleased. Funny how that didn’t seem quite so appealing as it might have sounded maybe ten years before. 

*

Sam proposed to her on November 2. It was a big date, he told her, for him. His mother had died on November 2, which she’d known. That had been what drove his father off the deep end, sent him wandering off all over the country on some vengeance quest that made about as much sense to Jess as it did to his youngest son. He’d waited until today because he wanted to take what had historically been a terrible day in his family and make it a beautiful day for his family – the new family he wanted to start with her. 

She’d said yes. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t suspected he was going to propose. She wasn’t stupid. He’d been acting jumpy and nervous as anything and someone had made off with her favorite ring, only to put it right back where it had come from three days later. The ring wasn’t huge, not some big giant rock like her cousin Sandi had, but that wasn’t who she was anyway. It was pretty and unique without being attention-grabbing. 

They ordered in to celebrate. Usually Sam preferred homemade meals, never really having had much of them growing up, but he wasn’t about to ask the newly-engaged bride-to-be to cook when he knew she wanted to be on the phone with her mother and her sisters and everyone else she wanted to tell. Sam called one person, someone she heard him call “Pastor Jim.” That was it. Well, she knew his family wanted nothing to do with him so that was probably about as much as he was going to do. He’d tell his friends – their friends – tomorrow or whenever. He wasn’t the type to go announcing things to the world anyway. He was the quiet type, not chatty or attention seeking. He couldn’t even find it in himself to brag about his own LSAT score, she’d had to do it for him because damn it someone had to show some pride in the boy.

Brady showed up not long after dinner. Jess suppressed a growl of impatience. Sure, the blond had introduced him and yeah she liked him well enough but when she’d seen that look on Sam’s face just before he’d gotten down on one knee she had not been looking forward to adding a third person to their evening. But here he was, and he was looking for some kind of history book that Sam had to go and get from the bedroom so he probably wouldn’t be pestering them too long.

“So,” he said when Sam left the room. “I guess he popped the question, huh? I wondered if he’d ever get around to doing it but I guess tonight was a good night for him. Or he wanted it to be.” 

Jess looked up. Brady’s normally-blue eyes had gone black – entirely black. She gasped. “Brady? What’s wrong with your eyes? Did you have an accident?” 

“Heh. That’s funny.” He gestured, and Jess found herself rising through the air and slamming back-first against the ceiling. “Sorry, Jess. I liked you. I really did. But sadly, you’ve outlived your purpose.”

Jess screamed. She’d never really thought of herself as a screaming damsel in distress, but no amount of self-defense classes or learning about how her body was her choice had prepared her to be held up against a ceiling by an invisible force. 

Sam came running from the other room. He had a pearl-handled gun in one hand (since when did he keep a gun in the house?) and a small hand sickle in the other. “Jess!” he yelled, firing three shots all at Brady. They all hit, perfectly grouped where the heart should be. 

Brady didn’t notice, or rather he did notice. He showed his notice by laughing, followed by a gesture that had Sam doubled over and bleeding. “Cute, Sam. Consecrated iron? Really? In Palo Alto? How did you come by that?” He gestured and the pre-med student felt a searing pain in her abdomen. “Sorry, old sport, but Jess here has to go. You’re behind schedule, buddy. You were supposed to be back on the road with your brother days ago.” 

Sam wiped blood from his mouth. “Whatever the hell you are I know Dean didn’t send you here.” Pain lines marred his beautiful face and his healthy bronze had gone gray, but his voice stayed steady.

“No. Someone else did. Someone who’s been watching over you for a very long time. You weren’t even supposed to be here tonight, Sam.” He shook his head. “Seriously. You need to clean up your act.”

“You’re… you’re the thing that killed my mother!” he marveled. If Jess hadn’t know him so well she’d have thought he was so caught up in the idea of his mother’s killer that he’d forgotten about her bleeding up on the ceiling. 

“No. But I do work for him. Now be a good boy and pick up the phone, call your brother and tell him to get his sorry ass back to Palo Alto before the cops get here.” 

Sam shook his head. “He won’t come. You know that. Let Jess go. There’s no reason to hurt her.” 

“Of course there is. She’s making you weak. Look at you, living like this. Getting married, settling down. You’re going to be a goddamn lawyer, for crying out loud. You need to be out on the road, honing your skills, getting ready for what’s to come.”

“Let her down, Brady, I’ve got a better idea.” Sam took a deep, shuddering, wet breath. Hearing that hurt more than the pain in her belly.

“I doubt that.” 

He sighed, leading to bloody coughs. “My father thought you people were always after me, right? When I was a kid?”

“So?” 

“So I can hone my skills just as easily if I come with you now, no fighting, no resisting. You let Jess live, you leave her alone, and I won’t fight you.” 

“Sam, no!” She didn’t know what Brady was, but she knew if Sam went with him she’d never see him again. She’d rather bleed to death from up here than let him go and face whatever fate awaited him. 

Brady considered, face twisting as the thoughts rolled around in his head. It was such an… un-Brady expression, now that he didn’t have to pretend. “It’s a deal.” He grabbed Sam’s arm and the pair of them disappeared, leaving only the bloodstain where Sam had been doubled over to remember them by.

Jess crashed to the ground. The police showed up about three minutes later, the neighbors having called when they heard gunfire. Jess found herself rushed to the hospital and into surgery for the cut to her abdomen as well as the broken arm the fall had caused. She made up some story for the police – Brady had attacked her, Sam had defended her and been kidnapped for his trouble. With her wide eyes and blonde hair it was easy to overplay the traumatic terror. It wasn’t like she wasn’t terrified, after all.

Her parents wanted to come and get her. Part of her wanted to let them, and the university kindly but firmly encouraged her to take the rest of the semester to wrap her head around what had happened. She asked if she could have Sam’s phone brought to her after police were done looking for evidence so she could talk to his family – she knew the university would probably take care of formalities but as his fiancée she felt compelled to do something herself, personally. Of course they were willing. The poor thing had just lost her fiancé to violence – it was the least they could do. 

Jess had no idea what his family actually did for a living, but all of that talk about “the thing that killed Mom” and the fact that he wasn’t fazed by the fact that his fiancée was pinned to the ceiling told her that the paranormal probably loomed large in those family secrets that he kept far away from her. When she got him back she’d have to talk to him about that. For now, though, they were probably the right place to start with regards to getting him back. First she tried the brother – well, she assumed it was the brother. She knew he had a brother named Dean, much beloved and much lamented. She called the only “Dean” on his contacts list, but while the guy admitted to being his brother he made it pretty clear that Sam’s problems were not his own. Sadly, that matched what Sam had expected. It was a good thing Sam had no contact with these people, because she’d have reconsidered her acceptance of his proposal if she’d had to live with them. 

She had more luck with Pastor Jim, listed as Sam’s emergency contact with the school and with Jess. “If anything ever happens,” he’d told her once, “Call Pastor Jim. He’ll know what to do.” She hadn’t known then what had prompted that warning, and she still didn’t, but she found his number in the contacts listing and she called him now. She was a little wary with him considering the reception she got from Dean, but Jim was everything Dean was not and expressed his condolences and his hope that they would find Sam soon. When she said there was something off about Brady, something about his eyes, he told her not to leave her room for anything. 

He showed up at her room twenty-four hours later. He listened carefully to her details from the event, turning pale. “My God,” he whispered. “Jessica, we’ll keep you safe, but this is… “

“You will not ‘keep me safe,’” she retorted warmly. “Sam is my fiancé. His family may not give a flying…” She remembered herself. “They may not give a hoot what happens to him but I do. I’m going to find him, Father.” 

“The hunting of demons is dangerous, Jessica. He’d never forgive us if we let any harm come to you.” 

“Then you’ll just have to make sure I know how to defend myself, because I’m going after him with or without permission.” She folded her arms over her chest.

He grinned despite his worry. “I can see why you and Sam were drawn to one another.” 

When she was released from the hospital she and the priest drove up to Blue Earth, Minnesota. He gave her some instruction, some books and sent her on her way. Apparently Sam’s father and brother were frequent guests at the rectory and she had no interest in meeting with them, not until her goal was achieved. Jim agreed to subtly get any information from John, who had apparently been researching this demon for years, while she worked with another demon hunter. 

This hunter’s name was Bobby Singer and he worked out of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Like apparently everyone else in the hunting community (Jess learned this after about a week with Jim Murphy) Bobby had had a falling out with John a long time ago, of sufficient severity that even though everyone knew there was no better demonologist in the United States than Bobby Singer. John Winchester would never even dream of going to him for help and Bobby would sooner eat a boot than offer. That same loathing did not extend to the boys, nor to the youngest’s intended spouse. On the contrary, the prospect of helping Jess seemed to delight the junkyard owner on multiple levels. He got to annoy John by helping Sam. He got to annoy John by helping Sam’s bride. He got to actually help Sam. He seemed to like Jess. And he liked the puzzle. He did not like Jess’ assessment of his dietary habits. But he got used to the changes. 

And Jess learned. Oh, did she ever learn. She learned about devil’s traps and holy water and before she even got the cast off her arm she could throw half a dozen exorcism rituals off her tongue from memory. She learned to fight hand-to-hand and she learned to fight with a knife and she learned to wield a machete like she was born to it, because sometimes a girl just needs to make heads roll. She’d always been a good shot – her father was a marksman and they did family bonding time down at the gun club – but now she became an expert. And she pored over those books, the ones stacked floor to ceiling in the old man’s house like they were part of the structure in there. It had been a good decade since Sam had been there but she liked to imagine that he too had run his hands all over these same books, soaking in the information and drinking in everything that they had to offer.

A grizzled old man called Elkins phoned them from Colorado telling them he had Colt’s gun, he needed to keep it out of the wrong hands. They didn’t make it in time to keep it away from the vampires but she and Bobby took out the nest and took the gun anyway. 

She put together the signs specific to the demon in question – fire, cattle mutilations, attacks on homes with infants on their six-month birthday. (What was up with that?) Bobby brought her by a dive bar called the Roadhouse, a place that catered to hunters. She didn’t think she was a hunter, not really, but Ellen nodded and smiled at her and told her that “you ain’t a hunter unless you got beef with John Winchester.” She decided she liked Ellen and her daughter Jo. The hacker they kept on hand, the one who slept on the pool table, seemed kind of sketchy but he was definitely useful. Sam would have liked him – he would like him, she corrected herself, when she got him back. He helped her create a program to track the demonic omens and predict where they would happen next, so that she could find this yellow-eyed fiend and get her fiancé back. 

She caught up with Brady, getting him into a devil’s trap outside Provo. The host body, the friend that had actually been Sam’s close friend, couldn’t be saved. He’d been shot three times in the heart for crying out loud. The demon riding him, however, did confirm that Sam had been delivered to Azazel personally. Azazel was the name of the yellow-eyed demon, the fiend that ruled Hell while Lucifer was imprisoned. “And the things he has planned for your darling little Sammy,” the monster sneered. “You know, time doesn’t move the same way in the pit. Every month here is a decade down there. Your beautiful precious boy is an old old man now, blondie.” 

She tried not to let herself enjoy sending him back to Hell. 

Almost a year and a half after Sam had been lost Ash got them word of major Azazel signs in Cold Oak, South Dakota. She wasn’t sure what could possibly interest him there, the place had been abandoned for at least a century, but whatever. She and Bobby headed out, Ellen and Jo not far behind. When they got there they found a bunch of people Jess’ age milling around and an older, creepy-looking man in the middle. 

The man saw Jess approach and leered. His yellow eyes told his identity, even though he didn’t bother to wear a name tag. “Ah, the lovely Miss Moore. Really, maybe I should have reconsidered leaving you behind. You’ve certainly shown you’ve got stronger stuff than expected. It’s a little late to join the program, though. You’ll just have to become a demon the old-fashioned way.” 

“I want my fiancé back,” she told him. She had no idea who any of these kids were but she had the Colt, and Bobby and the others were building a devil’s trap not too far away. 

“Little Sammy’s long gone, sister,” he sneered. “Sorry, but you missed the boat on that one.” He snapped his fingers and a figure appeared beside him. He looked like Sam, maybe. The male was taller than Sam had been, if that were possible, with longer hair and visible scars on his bare arms. Her Sam had never gone out without multiple layers of clothing on. The most startling difference was in the eyes. The hazel orbs she’d adored had been replaced by pure chartreuse, just like Azazel’s. 

She couldn’t help but gasp. The demon was able to use her surprise to throw her against the side of a building, forcing the Colt from her grasp. “So much for your plan, sweetheart,” he chortled. “Better luck next time around.” Her airway began to close. 

The Sam-like creature’s eyes narrowed. “Release her,” he demanded, raising a hand. 

Azazel froze. “Excuse me?” He made as if to move, but found himself immobilized. 

The voice was Sam’s but lower, darker. “I said to release her.” 

“And if I don’t, champ?” 

The younger creature shrugged once and then exhaled, closing his eyes. A glow emanated from Azazel’s face briefly and then disappeared, like a light bulb going out, and then both he and Jess crashed to the ground. 

She got up, albeit slowly. Azazel did not. 

He approached her slowly, hands out and down. “Is it… is this real?” His voice had gone soft again, entirely Sam.

“I.. who are you? You can’t be…” She felt tears rolling down her face. “You can’t be Sam.” 

“I… I was. I mean.” He bent down slowly and retrieved the Colt. “Is this what I think it is?” 

She flinched when he touched it but he passed it over to her hilt first. “Y-yeah. Daniel Elkins had it.” 

“Oh. Um. Do what you need to do. I mean. I, uh, I never wanted you to have to get messed up in all this crap, you know?” He sniffed and blinked, eyes hazel now. Hazel and bloodshot. “I’ll make it easy for you.” He stepped away, about ten paces, then turned around and knelt in the dust. 

The other young people looked around at each other. “What the fuck?” asked a guy in a bathrobe and shorts.

“Dude, don’t even ask me,” replied a guy in fatigues.

Jess’ brain caught up with the rest of her. “You’re not expecting me to use this… on you?” she demanded, rushing over and standing in front of him. 

“Jess, you saw what I did,” he replied softly. “What I am. I’m a monster and you have to take me out.” 

She knelt down in the dust before him, so their faces were on a level or close enough to it. Her hands trembled, so she put them on his scarred arms to steady them. It was him, really him after all this time and fighting. She couldn’t let him see her cry, couldn’t let him see her break. Not yet, not when he was obviously still so raw. There was time for that later. “Sam Winchester, you are not a monster. You killed a monster. You saved my life, you saved all these people’s lives, and you are a hero. You’re also the man I agreed to marry. We have a wedding to plan.” 

*

He tried to make it easy for her because he frankly agreed. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was now, but he knew it wasn’t good and he probably shouldn’t exist anymore. He probably shouldn’t have existed in the first place, hand-crafted for Lucifer and all, but now at least it could be Jess and not his dad or someone else. But here she was instead, coming around in front of him and getting down onto his level and still talking about weddings like he wasn’t some kind of monster that looked like a keg full of Mountain Dew. And there was Bobby Singer, who he hadn’t seen since he was twelve, and a couple of women he didn’t know at all but they were all coming up to him like they were happy to see him. Like they’d been looking for him instead of hunting him like they should have been. And then there were all those people – people who’d been dosed the way he had, he knew. There were five here now, staring.

Bobby approached. “Sam? Is that really you?” 

“I…. I guess.” So long since he’d heard someone say his name that way, or any way that couldn’t be described as an epithet.

They bundled him into Bobby’s truck and drove it back to Sioux Falls. Sam sat in the back with the psychic kids. It wasn’t a comfortable ride. They stared at him and he considered just teleporting away, but he wasn’t sure where he was and he didn’t want to freak the hunters out. He didn’t want to freak the psychics out either. He filled them in as gently as possible about their backgrounds and why they could do the things they could do, their connection to each other. It helped during the seven-hour drive to talk to the kids. 

He couldn’t help but think of them as kids. They didn’t look much younger than him but he’d had a hundred and eighty years someplace else to age like a really crappy wine and these people, they were grapes, still on the vine. They still had potential; every one of them could still be someone someday. Scott was a writer and an artist. He also had this electrical thing going on, wasn’t that exciting, but he had gotten control over it more or less and hey now he didn’t need to worry about undercooked hot dogs anymore. Lily was quiet, but tough and didn’t take a lot of crap from the others. She also didn’t let anyone touch her and with good reason. Skin to skin contact tended to be pretty fatal for the other party. Andy had the power of suggestion – he suggested things to people and they happened. He didn’t have a job because people just gave him what he needed which frankly sounded kind of shady to Sam but then again anything would sound kind of shady from a guy running around in a bathrobe and shorts. Ava was a pretty girl-next-door type, she was apparently a secretary from Peoria and precognitive to boot. Sam had been precognitive to start, too. Jake had been a soldier, abducted directly from his unit in Afghanistan without warning and dropped into the middle of Cold Oak. He was strong, super-strong, Captain America strong and they both had a chuckle over the idea that Captain America was going to get discharged for going AWOL because a demon stole him from his unit. 

He doubted that Bobby’s house had ever seen so many people before. The old man put everyone through a series of tests and Sam’s stomach tightened. Would he be able to go near the holy water? Would the devil’s trap in the ceiling bother him at all? The others all took their shot of holy water without complaint, even the other hunters because you never knew. When his turn came his hands shook but he drank it back. There was no burn. Tears did cut through the dust on his face, but they were tears of relief. The liquid felt so pure, so clean as he swallowed it might have been the most perfect thing he’d ever tasted. He drained the flask and asked for more. 

Jess couldn’t tolerate letting him out of her sight for days. On the one hand that was – well, it was perfect. The fact that someone as incredible as Jess could even tolerate being in the same hemisphere as him was beyond what he could have hoped for. On the other hand he wanted to go make himself a little hermit cave in one of the abandoned clunkers in the scrapyard because he hated the fact that she could see what he’d become. He hated the fact that his nightmares woke her and disturbed her sleep. He hated the fact that when he forgot where he was or got distracted and didn’t remember that he was out things flew around the room and he hated the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes the way she wanted them to be. 

He offered to break the engagement. “You deserve better than this,” he told her. “I’m a mess. I’m worse than a mess, Jess. I’m a monster.” 

“You’ve changed,” she acknowledged, putting a hand on his bicep. “It’s not exactly a secret. But I’ve changed too, Sam. Things that I’ve learned, things that I’ve seen and done and become… I’m still Jess. I’m still the woman that said yes. I’m still the woman who wants to be your wife, Sam.” 

“But… I mean, the things I’ve done. The things… I was in hell, Jess.”

“You are not a demon, Sam.” 

“Only part.”

“And I love all of you.”

“I have literally nothing to give you. Just a bucket full of nightmares and a guy who has to wear sunglasses indoors like a no-talent hack.” 

“You’ll figure it out.” And she kissed him. 

Things did get better slowly. Pastor Jim came out to Sioux Falls and married them after a couple of weeks. It wasn’t the church wedding Jess deserved or would have maybe wanted before, but it was the one they both wanted now. The other psychics, who had evidently decided to stick around because what other response do people have to demonic abduction than to follow the half-demon thing that kills their abductor around like a baby duck, were witnesses. Jess filed paperwork to get them re-instated at Stanford, because some things shouldn’t go unfinished. Andy talked some guy into just giving them an old house, not anything big but there were rooms for all of them and a few more besides. Ava found work. They created a new identity for Jake, who also found work. Getting work for Lily, who was still trying to figure out a way to control her abilities, was a little more challenging but finally they found a job that let her work from home and not risk accidental contact. Scott started graduate school nearby. Time passed. 

None of them were under any illusions about their status. Jess – well, she didn’t consider herself a hunter but she’d built up quite a name for herself in the hunting community and just because Azazel was dead didn’t mean that all demons were going to just go away. Sam was willing enough to help out on hunts and demon issues when it didn’t interfere with school and the others were certainly willing to put their minds to helping people and saving lives. 

The problem was hunters. Hunters tended to have a certain black-and-white view to the world. If it was supernatural you killed it, end of story, and a bunch of demon-blooded youths running around definitely counted as “supernatural.” A hunter named Kubrick caught up with Scott and Lily when they were trying to deal with a witch in Santa Barbara. They got away – Lily’s powers could only work one way and it wasn’t a way that worked out in Kubrick’s favor– but not before Scott took a bullet to the shoulder and Lily to the leg. 

For Sam, it helped to try to pretend to be normal. It was pretense and he knew it. He felt the power inside of him with each exhalation, every time he reached for something and it came to his hands unbidden. Building up a routine was critical for him. He couldn’t forget what he’d seen, what he’d done, what had been done to him. He could never escape the stink of sulfur, the chill of Lucifer’s touch. They were as much part of him as his touch or the nightmares. Routine just helped. It gave him something to count on. 

Jess – Jess couldn’t have been better. She still hunted, and she researched, and she had a day job besides. They heard from Bobby regularly and even saw him sometimes. Pastor Jim was another tie. So was Ellen Harvelle; her daughter Jo even came out to visit on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes it seemed like she and Scott might have had a bit of a thing going, but sometimes not. 

Sam wasn’t bitter that his family hadn’t looked for him, or tried to rescue him. It had never occurred to him that they might have done so. While Jim and Bobby and Ellen and Jo were friendly and cool he knew that John and Dean would not be so open-minded. They would see him as fair game, and they’d be right. 

*

Castiel had several roles in Heaven. Some angels had more of course, but he was no cupid to be limited to linking important human mates together and no more. He was a soldier, it was true. He had been second in command of his garrison until Anael fell, and then he had replaced her. He was a guardian, intended to watch over the line of Cain and his descendants. And he was the monitor of the Ends of Days. When human events began to take shape in the ways their Father had outlined in preparation for the final battle between Lucifer and Michael, Heaven and Hell, it would be on him to monitor events and keep Heaven appraised of their progress. 

Initially things proceeded as they ought. The cupid united John Winchester with Mary Campbell, which took some doing, as they were fundamentally unsuited for each other without that spark of destiny to get things going. The eldest son, of the line of Cain, was born as was intended. Here was the Righteous Man of prophecy and his purpose shone forth so brightly that a being capable of vision on the appropriate wavelengths could have seen it from the next galaxy over. 

The first inkling that there might be a problem was when the second one was born. Castiel tried not to pay more attention to him than was necessary but it was hard to look away. This one, the vessel for Lucifer himself, shone even brighter than his brother. It hurt to look at him but it hurt equally to avert his gaze. He called this matter to Joshua’s attention. “You don’t remember much about Lucifer before the Fall, do you? There is a reason he was called the Lightbringer,” was the Gardener’s response. 

Then when the younger boy was six months old Mary Campbell was killed and the archdemon Azazel fed the infant his blood, changing the boy forever but failing completely to dull that light. Again Castiel brought the matter to his superiors, this time to Raphael. “Do not trouble yourself, Castiel,” the archangel assured him. “It is well that our brother’s vessel should be an abomination. It spares us any concern for him.” 

And so Castiel watched as the boys were uprooted time and time again, taught to hunt and fight. Their father was supposed to be a Righteous Man himself, capable of starting the Apocalypse in his own right, but as near as Castiel could tell there was nothing of righteousness about John Winchester. He set himself to battling monsters but he risked the lives of his sons repeatedly in the process. The hunter was completely ignorant of the number of times divine assistance ensured that both of his sons lived to maturity. Castiel suspected he would not have been grateful in the case of the younger son, except for the boy’s perceived potential as a bargaining chip.

When the boy escaped his father and went to college Castiel was told that this was part of the plan, and he accepted this. There would need to be some bad blood between the brothers, after all, if they were to accept their roles as the earthly incarnations of the divine brothers who were to fight to the death. 

Castiel continued to watch, focusing his attention on Dean. When Dean chose not to reunite with his brother, driving away and calling on a human named Caleb for help in finding his father instead, he told Zachariah. This caused some consternation for the first time. “This is unexpected. Keep me posted.”

Castiel returned several days later. “Sam Winchester has traded himself for the life of his bride. He is in Hell.” 

They waited for a time to see how the line of Righteous Men would respond to Sam’s action, but there was nothing. Dean would not even listen to the bride (whose destiny had in fact been to die) to find out what had happened to his brother, had hung up on her. The First Seal could not be broke until a Righteous Man shed blood in Hell, and even if Sam broke while he was there the corruption inherent in being Lucifer’s Vessel ensured that he did not meet the qualification for Righteousness. Barring something significant and unexpected, there would be no Apocalypse. 

Still, Castiel was directed to watch. Something could still happen to get the ball rolling again and after all, conditions were right in all other respects. They might not be right for another two millennia. It wouldn’t pay to fall asleep at the wheel or so the humans said, a phrase Castiel could not understand. Besides, the Winchesters had managed to subvert thousands of years of divine planning and genetic engineering without even trying. Who knew what they could do if they actually put in some effort? It made sense to keep an eye on them. 

“Should a rescue mission be prepared, sir?” he asked Zachariah?

“For whom?”

“For Sam Winchester. He is a human brought alive into the depths of Hell.” 

“He is an abomination who walked into Hell willingly. His fate is no concern of Heaven.” 

Castiel kept his face impassive, but he could not agree with his superior. Instead he watched. He watched as his actual charges, John and Dean, continued to hunt Azazel and other supernatural creatures. He was only authorized to assist actual human Winchesters. He watched as the bride, Jessica, dedicated herself to finding her groom. If she occasionally happened to find the right book at the right time or have a near miss in a fight – well, that was just luck, of course.

He watched when Sam killed Azazel using powers that were supposed to be demonic but were in fact more reminiscent of caged Lucifer and he kept his mouth shut about it. He watched as Dean and his father continued to hunt for the yellow-eyed demon long after he’d been killed, never once asking about the prodigal son. He suspected that Dean wanted to ask; he suspected that Dean grieved his brother far more deeply than he showed, but he could not show such doubt before his father. The angel thought this was something upon which he and the Righteous Man could relate.

He watched as Sam and his strange new family took up a quiet residence in Palo Alto and began helping the cause of good and building lives for themselves even though Sam still couldn’t sleep all the way through the night. He watched when John Winchester died and he couldn’t manage to mourn even though it was clear that Dean felt the loss keenly. He watched until finally his superiors called him back to Heaven.

“The power vacuum in Hell seems to have been filled, Castiel,” Michael warned him. “And it is not good.”

“We believe that it is time,” Raphael intoned, “for the Winchester brothers to put aside their differences.” 

“With all due respect,” the seraph informed them, “I don’t believe that to be humanly possible.”

Zachariah sneered. “Fortunately, Castiel, you are not human.”


	2. You Can't Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes on a road trip. Sam gets close. Cas gets frustrated.

Dean made his way to the Roadhouse. He wouldn’t say he was a regular. He liked the place well enough but being a “regular” meant that you had a territory, someplace you kept coming back to and that just wasn’t Dean’s style. It hadn’t been Dean’s style since Mom died all those years ago and Dad had shoved a squirming, coughing infant into his arms. Then Sammy had left and he really hadn’t had anywhere, just himself and his car. There had been Dad that didn’t count. Dad was just kind of out there somewhere and sometimes their paths crossed. Then Dad died and now Dean was on his own, well and truly. Nothing to tie him to any one place. Pastor Jim had been conciliatory and would occasionally let him stay a night or two there, but he hadn’t been keen to have him for more than a night or two. Bobby had turned cagey on him after Sam had disappeared too, like he’d expected Dean to just drop everything and go chasing after the guy. 

They didn’t get it, but Dean guessed that he didn’t really need them to. They’d never had that specific goal in mind, a specific target. They’d never been betrayed and abandoned by someone who’d been raised from six months old to have their backs – they literally couldn’t understand, of course they were mad. And Dean didn’t need a home base anyway. He liked the roaming lifestyle. He liked having his options clear. He liked being able to pick up and go wherever the job took him – it made him a better hunter, honestly, than someone who turned down jobs because of school or work or kids or whatever. Dad had never let kids hold him back; why should anyone else? 

But whatever. If Dean happened to swing through the Sioux Falls or Blue Earth area they usually were happy to see him, and if he happened to be swinging through Nebraska he could usually find his way to the Roadhouse and be sure of a pretty warm welcome there too. It was his kind of place. Rough-hewn, sawdust-filled, three kinds of beer and all of them cheap. Tourists didn’t stop at the Roadhouse as a general rule, although it happened once in a while. Bikers stopped in, and they were welcome. Most of the clientele were hunters, and it was here that they met up to trade stories and swap gear and meet up for jobs.

Jo was behind the bar today. She wasn’t always. The pretty blonde traveled a lot and did a fair bit of hunting herself, something her mother didn’t generally like. She’d have made a good Winchester – enthusiastic about the hunt, willing, good-natured and good-tempered. She had about a year on Sammy. Today she gave Dean a big smile when she saw him enter. “Hey there Dean,” she greeted. “How you doing? Haven’t heard from you in a while.” She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Geez, you stink. What did you do, take a bath in Windsong?” 

“Pretty much,” he admitted. “It was a poltergeist haunting an old department store. The thing kept chucking old perfume bottles at me until I finally ganked it.” He shook his head. “I rescued some of this for you though.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny bottle. “I’m not sure if it’s something you usually use, but I figure it must be good stuff if they charged this much for it back when this place was still open back in the seventies, you know?”

She sniffed at the bottle and he was gratified to see her eyes widen. “Wow, thanks Dean!”

He chuckled a little. Maybe once he’d thought he could get somewhere with her, maybe he’d tried a time or two, but he’d gotten precisely nowhere once he’d gotten That Look from her mother. He wasn’t afraid of much between earth and sky but Dean was terrified of Ellen Harvelle. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll wear it for that boy of yours out in Cali.” 

She blushed a little. “Maybe.” 

“You gonna bring him back to Nebraska sometime soon or what?” he challenged, sitting down at the bar and accepting the beer she passed him. “You can’t be enjoying the long-distance thing.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s got a big family out there. Five brothers and sisters, you know? One of ‘em’s married. I don’t think that he’s so keen to just pick up stakes and leave all that behind, you know. Plus he’s met a hunter or two and I don’t think they left a great impression.” 

“Really? I know some of us can be a little rough around the edges but come on; we’re the good guys. We save lives.” He frowned. “I mean, he knows you.”

“Yeah, well, I guess he’s met one or two too many bad apples. You know how some folks get. Don’t care about collateral damage, stuff like that.” She shrugged and wiped at an already very shiny section of the counter. “Anyway, you here on business or pleasure?” 

“Well much as it is always a pleasure to see you, Jo, I am actually here to meet someone.” 

“That would be me.” He hadn’t heard the guy come in but Gordon Walker was a presence as he slid onto the barstool beside Dean. He’d always had that about him, a kind of brooding darkness that extended beyond himself, like some kind of cloud hanging over him. Given his backstory Dean supposed it was understandable but then again, most folks didn’t go into hunting just because it was fun. “Howdy, Dean. How’s it hanging?” 

“Good to see you, Gordon. Hey, Jo, could you be a dear and grab a beer for my buddy Gordon here?” She gave a thin smile and poured a beer for the vampire hunter. Neither Ellen nor Jo particularly cared for Gordon. Dean couldn’t understand why. Maybe he wasn’t the cute and cuddly type but he was competent at what he did. More than competent. No one was better than Gordon Walker when it came to getting rid of vampires. He’d worked with him before and maybe his methods weren’t exactly orthodox but they got the job done.

“Thanks for coming to meet me, Dean. I was hoping you’d be up for a new job.” 

“Oh, I’m always up for a job, Walker. You know that.” He grinned. 

“I thought after your dad you might want to take some time off, take a little vacation. Maybe look for your brother or something.” 

Dean saw red. “Sammy’s gone. He ain’t coming back.” 

Gordon jumped at the way Dean slammed his hand on the counter. “Okay. Sorry, tough guy. I get it. You’re up for working. Fine. Good. So, I’ve been hearing about these people. Well, I say people but they’re not people. Not really.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow and sipped his beer. “Oh yeah?” You kind of had to take Gordon’s definition of “people” with a grain of salt sometimes.

“They’re… well, they’re psychics, Dean. Not true humans at all. But it’s more than that. They’ve got these powers and they’re all different. Some of them read minds, some of them get visions, some of them can move things around with their minds but they’ve all got one thing in common. They’ve all got a little piece of Hell in them. That demon that you and your daddy have been chasing your whole lives? It created them. And they’ve just been waltzing around like you and me, mingling among us.” 

Dean’s eyes widened. “They’re connected to the demon?” 

“Yeah. They’re connected all right.” 

“Are they hurting people?” 

“Some are. There was one of the freaks went and killed his whole family a little while ago using telekinesis. Oh, he claimed abuse but I knew better. You can’t give these things an inch. Where would you draw the line, Dean? I mean, really. And another one, he was making people kill themselves.” 

“Sounds pretty evil in my book.” Dean shrugged. “What do we do about them? Consecrated iron? Silver? Holy water?”

“Well the bad news is that because they’re part human they aren’t bothered by devil’s traps or exorcisms or the like.” He grinned, a gash of an expression that had nothing resembling warmth in it. “The good news is plain old bullets you can buy at Wal-Mart will do the job just fine. I know Kubrick caught wind of one down near San Fran a while back – I think it was zapping things or something.”

“Was it hurting anyone?” Jo challenged. Gordon glared at her, but she didn’t back down. Jo never did. 

“He’s working up to it, you mark my words. Anyway, there’s been some demon signs around the area too so I figured maybe we could kill two birds with one trip. Save on gas. You know. What do you say?” 

Jo’s eyes pleaded with him to say no, but Dean couldn’t turn it down. Anything to do with that yellow-eyed demon needed to be wiped from the face of the earth, and if there were demon signs in the area he had to at least try. Right? Not a lot of hunters had the knowledge that the Winchesters did when it came to demons. Maybe Bobby Singer, but he didn’t travel. “I’m in.” 

“Great.” Walker smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Dean. There’s a demonologist I’d love to chat with out there, a Jessica Singer. I think she could be very helpful when it comes to those demon signs.” 

“I know Jess,” Jo interjected. “She’s pretty choosy about who she’ll work with.” 

“Maybe you can set up the meeting for us,” Dean grinned. He looked at Jo’s eyes and saw the doubt. “Hey, listen, you want to head out west to see your boyfriend? I’d be happy to give you a ride.” He could work on her on the way out. 

She bit her lip. “You know what? I’d love that.” She caught her mother’s eye, already texting before heading over to talk to the bar owner. 

Talk turned to more general topics. Gordon had been sticking to his usual prey of late, because somehow there were always vampires to kill no matter how hard he tried. Dean told about some idiots down in Texas who had accidentally created a Tulpa using the power of the Internet and Blue Oyster Cult. That one would have been funny if it weren’t for people actually dying. 

They agreed to meet up at the Velazquez Motor Inn in Palo Alto rather than worrying about following or caravanning it. Dean knew that Jo wasn’t comfortable with Gordon and he knew that she was probably eager to meet up with her guy preferably without Gordon around. Fortunately he trusted Jo to drive the Impala so they didn’t need to stop to do things like sleep, just stretch their legs and use the restroom once in a while. He pushed at her a bit about this Scott guy. She wasn’t hugely forthcoming about a lot. He was a graduate student studying English at Stanford. He couldn’t resist a snort. “No wonder he can’t stand hunters. Something about the air out there makes people think they’re too good for the likes of us.” 

She glared at him. “That’s not it at all, okay? He’s with me, remember? He just had some less than stellar experiences and isn’t too keen. He’s a good guy. Smart.” 

“He’d have to be.”

“You really have a thing against Stanford.”

“It took Sammy away from me, Jo. I can’t… I mean, I know it’s stupid. He made his choice but I just don’t like the place.”

“I am so not getting into it with you about your brother.” She grinned.

“Good choice.” He grinned back, with thin lips and showing no teeth. He knew he’d brought his brother up, but the topic still never had sat quite right with him. Not since the kid had walked away all those years ago. Whether it was as a young kid abandoning everything his family had ever stood for and tried to accomplish or as a young man abducted from his home or as a possibly dead victim of the same creature that killed his mother or as a possible evil force himself, the brother he’d loved and cared for since he’d been barely out of training pants was gone and he’d never be over the loss. Never. “So you actually know this Jessie Singer?” 

She shuddered. “Okay. Tip for you? Don’t call her Jessie. Like ever. She’ll cut off your left toe and wear it as a necklace. No joke.” 

Dean smirked. “She can try, Jo. I’m pretty sure I can take some bookworm demonology student.” 

“Not Jess, dude. Trust me on this. She makes Mom look like a kitten. She went up against Azazel.” 

Dean almost hit the brakes. “Is she the one who took him down?” 

She paused. “No. But she was there and she had damn good reason not to flinch, okay? So. Working with Gordon Walker again, huh? You know he’s trouble, Dean.” 

“He’s a good hunter. He gets the job done.” He grinned. “That’s the important thing, you know?”

“How he gets it done is more important,” she frowned. “I mean, if he kills one vampire but kills eight humans in the process who’s the bigger monster?” 

“The vampire,” Dean answered promptly. “The vampire is the monster, because it’s a vampire. It feeds on blood, Jo. If it’s supernatural we kill it. We don’t wait for it to wipe out an entire city; we get rid of it before it can hurt humans. I mean, they killed your dad, they killed my dad, they killed my mom. Humans and the supernatural can’t live together, we’re like oil and water.”

“You really believe that?” 

“I know that. When have humans actually been helped by something non-human, huh?” 

“Didn’t you work a case where the ghost actually helped to solve active human murder cases?” she pointed out. 

“Okay, yeah, sure. But she was also going after the people who covered up her own murder.” 

“You don’t think that’s kind of justified?” 

He bit his lip. His family’s whole life had been driven by revenge. “I just think what’s dead should stay dead.” She looked out the window and sighed. Most of the rest of the drive passed in silence. 

He dropped her off at a coffee shop near campus. He remembered the place from when Sam had been there. He might not have had contact with Sam for two years before he disappeared but he sure as hell didn’t leave him alone there. The kid had gone there every day when Dean had peeked in on him and the thought caused a pang in his heart. Obviously it had been a favorite with him, the best purveyor of half-caf-soy-whatever to meet with his refined palate’s needs. 

He’d planned to wait and see who it was that left with her, follow them back to wherever he took her and make sure she was safe but somehow he found himself putting the key back in the ignition and driving away. Before he knew it he was checking into the motel he’d agreed on with Gordon. Oh well. Jo’d been seeing this guy for a while, and Ellen approved of him. She was probably fine anyway.

*

When Jo had texted Scott and Sam in the middle of the week he’d known that it couldn’t go anywhere good. Not that Sam wouldn’t be happy to see Jo anytime. Jo was good people, and it was good to be reminded that Jess wasn’t the only non-freak out there who knew who he and the others were and still wanted to be around them. It was the suddenness of her visit, the break in routine that bothered him. Well, that and the fact that her text consisted of “We have a problem I’m heading out tomorrow be on your toes.” He supposed he should be thankful that she didn’t truncate her words for text purposes. 

It wasn’t the first time that their family had faced a threat. They knew that they were only so safe among normal people. The slightest indication that something wasn’t quite “right” about one of them would bring attention, and even positive attention could bring hunters sniffing around. They’d heard about another of their kind, a gentle young woman whose power involved weather. She’d controlled weather, dissipating a tornado by sheer force of will once. It had saved her community, and she’d been hailed as a saint. That hadn’t been enough to keep hunters away from her. It had been Kubrick and Walker who’d finally gotten her. Sam had tried to convince her to come and stay with them but she’d been set on staying with her own people and it had ended with her head being buried between her feet like some kind of Tudor queen. 

So they did in fact have a procedure in place for this sort of thing. Sam sent out the mass text alerting people that an extra level of vigilance was warranted. He didn’t spend any time worrying about who had brought the extra scrutiny down on them. It could have been any one of them except Jess, and frankly Sam was at least as likely to have caused the problem as any of the others. Nothing was to be gained by blaming anyone. 

That didn’t mean that he was any better able to sleep. He made a good faith effort but once it became clear that his tossing and turning was keeping Jess awake he got up and went to the living room to spend some time on the couch with his family law books. If he couldn’t sleep he could at least put the time to productive use, and he had plenty of time to make up for. 

Sleep and Sam had never had the closest of relationships. Maybe it had been the demon blood in him making itself known. Maybe it had been the nightmares that had been a feature of his life for as long as he could remember; only puberty had intervened to change things up a little bit, but that had been a very brief respite all things considered. Maybe it had been the pressure to hunt – training and researching and digging up graves and tracking the things that went bump in the night took a huge chunk out of a guy’s evening, especially if he insisted on petty things like schoolwork and SATs to boot. Something had needed to give and so Sam had just learned to stop sleeping after a couple of hours. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t deserve sleep. Maybe that was it. 

Whatever it was, he curled up on the couch with his textbook until the words ran together and the book fell over his face. His body must have been desperate for some respite because he actually managed to get a couple of hours of real sleep in before the dreams crept in.

At first the dreams seemed innocuous – just Dean, in the Impala with Jo. Well, that was okay. Dean drove his car a lot and if Dean were coming to town that could be part of the reason that Jo thought they had reason for concern. Dean was a pretty kick-ass hunter, not someone they needed knowing about them. Then the dreams shifted a bit. He saw Dean staying at a ratty motel with a thin Black man, a hunter with eyes as dead as any demon’s and about as much mercy in his heart. They had someone tied to a chair and the stranger had a knife. Sam struggled to identify the victim in the chair. The gender was easy, her voice gave her away when she wailed even if her shirt hadn’t been sliced open, but her hair had been shaved completely and her face beaten beyond all recognition. 

Sam shook his head. Dean was many things and he’d always been a proponent of the “if it’s supernatural we kill it” school of thought but stooping to torture? 

The vision shifted and he saw wings, wings like he hadn’t seen since Hell and had hoped to never see again. They weren’t the same – not as big, not as many, not nearly as magnificent – but they were close enough that he woke himself with a strangled cry. All of the books near him had thrown themselves onto the floor. The coffee table had flipped itself and the old easy chairs were on their sides.

He sat up and sighed. At least no one else had seen him lose control like this. A thought and a gesture and things were upright again, maybe a little battered but they hadn’t exactly been new to begin with. He rubbed at his face with his hands and stood. He needed to talk with Jo, but if she really was heading this way with Dean that could prove to be a disaster for everyone involved. There was one way to find out the truth. 

He sneaked back into the bedroom he shared with Jess. She stirred when he entered - you didn’t hunt for long without becoming a light sleeper – but fell back to sleep at a whispered word from her husband. She’d gotten used to his insomnia before everything changed and was too smart to think it was going to improve after eighteen decades in the Pit. He knew exactly where to find the supplies he needed even in the dark, his fingertips ghosting over the hammered copper bowl without hesitation or confusion. Then he moved back downstairs and into the kitchen. 

This had been one of the many things he’d learned in his time in Hell. Scrying was simple, a human art that had been practiced by perfectly normal human priests and diviners and simply curious little old ladies since the dawn of human consciousness. All it required was a reflective surface and a little bit of focus. Of course Ruby had taught it to him using a bowl of blood, being a demon and all. The first time Jess and Bobby had found him cutting himself to get the blood for the bowl they’d flipped out and wanted to have an intervention and taken away all of the sharp objects for a while until he’d bent over backwards to reassure them that he wasn’t trying to undo everything that they’d done to try to get him back. (They hadn’t gotten him back, he’d gotten himself back, but he appreciated the effort.) Then they’d sat down and gone over some other ways that he could see what he wanted to see without increasing anyone else’s blood pressure.

It had been Lucifer, of course, who had shown him that he could use his abilities to magnify the scrying beyond what an ordinary seer would get. “Fate gave you to me,” the archangel had growled into his ear with frost on his breath. “You might as well get something interesting out of the deal.” And so now Sam, should he be willing to force himself to remember the Prince of Darkness, could actually get television-quality visuals from just about any material he chose to use for the purpose. A mirror was excellently suited but not easily replaced should he freak out and accidently destroy it. He tended to stick with his copper bowl and liquids. Today it was water. Sometimes it was whiskey. Blood would be best, since he was actually looking to see someone connected to him by blood, but he didn’t want a repeat of the Great Self-Harm Intervention of 2007. 

The water worked just fine anyway, almost as if the vision wanted to come to him or something. He sometimes peeked in on Dean just to see how he was doing, see if he was okay or hurt or whatever and sometimes it was more difficult than others but this morning the image popped right into place. Jo was driving the Impala while Dean slept in the passenger seat. Huh. He’d known they knew each other from the Roadhouse, she mentioned that he came in there sometimes, but he hadn’t realized that he trusted her well enough to let her drive the Impala. For a moment jealousy overcame him. He’d never been so favored, and he never would be. And for what – daring to resist induction into John Winchester’s Army? 

He forced himself to calm down when the bowl started to shake and the image was lost. Getting angry wasn’t going to solve anything for him. His days as a Winchester were long since gone and it certainly wasn’t Jo’s fault that his brother hated him. She’d given him the heads up that Dean was coming to town; that was more than enough to prove that she was on their side. 

A run would improve his mood before class. He changed and slipped out the door, returning in time to greet the sun with Jess and some yoga in the backyard. Jake and Ava and Scott all stirred themselves to join them for some sparring and strength training before breakfast. The folks who had early morning obligations got the first showers while Sam and Scott hung back. Their class schedules let them get a later start than the others most days. 

Jo got in that afternoon. “I turned off my phone and pulled the battery out,” she announced as the family gathered in the living room. “I’ll turn it on when I’m a minimum safe distance from the house, but I’m not risking having them find you by tracking me.” 

“Who?” Jake wanted to know, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorjamb. 

“It was a hunter that gave me a ride out here,” she admitted. “I wasn’t planning to come out so soon, but…”

Jess raised a blonde eyebrow. “But?”

“But Gordon Walker’s got someone’s scent,” she finished. “I’m not sure whose but he’s looking for psychics with a demonic connection in the San Francisco area. I don’t know how many of you he knows about but he brought Dean Winchester along as backup. He claims there’s been demon signs in the area as well so he’s hoping to work two jobs at once.” She swallowed. “I had to come out and try to help.” 

Sam’s stomach dropped out when she said his brother’s name. He was surprised that no one could see it on the floor to be honest. “I appreciate that,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Jess agreed, snaking an arm around his waist. “Gordon Walker’s bad news.” 

“Tell me about it,” their guest grimaced, laying a head on Scott’s shoulder. “Can’t really keep him out of the Roadhouse but wow I wish we could. The guy’s about sixteen kinds of creepy.” 

“I’m pretty sure he was friends with Kubrick,” Lily offered. 

“Oh yeah. He was. Probably here looking for revenge,” Scott shivered.

“Seriously. And bringing in Dean Winchester just means he’s bringing in the big guns.” 

“Oh, and the best part is that he wants to talk to you, Jess.” Jo smirked. “You’ve got a Hell of a reputation, pun intended, and he wants to get you to help with the demon they think they’re tracking.” 

“Oh hell no,” she replied with spirit. “I’d sooner work with a wounded grizzly bear.”

“Dean’s not so bad,” Jo offered. “If there are really demons becoming a problem you could try talking with him.” 

“We’ve spoken. Once. It didn’t go well.” Her flat tone conveyed volumes. “Anyway. What are we going to do about the whole Gordon Walker thing? Sam, Ava, have either of you seen anything?” 

Ava hadn’t. Sam had to admit that he had, and that it wasn’t good. He sketched out his vision from the previous night, giving as few details as possible while still getting the seriousness of the situation across as best he could. As skin got pale around the room he could tell he was having the desired effect. Not for the first time he found himself wishing he’d developed a different talent. “Look, we can’t really stop our lives,” he told them. “No one can. But we can take more sensible precautions. No one goes anywhere alone, okay? Especially the ladies – not because of sexism but because they had a woman prisoner.”

“Dean’s a good guy, Sam,” Jo objected. “I know he hasn’t exactly done right by you –“ 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jess snorted. 

“Hey,” he said softly, putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “He had his reasons, okay? I get it. I knew they wouldn’t come for me when I went, when I left. Okay? It’s okay. I don’t hold any grudges.” He kissed her cheek softly. He’d known the price for disobedience when he walked away. He’d been lucky to leave with his life. “Anyway, the Dean I knew wouldn’t stoop to torture like what I saw, but it’s been a good long time since we spoke. If he’s following Gordon’s lead we can’t take anything for granted. I’m not saying that he’d definitely do anything bad, but I’m saying we can’t count on what he was like with me when I was a little kid or what he’s like when he’s in relaxed company at the Roadhouse.”

Things were quiet for a couple of days, and a casual observer would have assumed that everything was perfectly normal for a group of young adults living in a house together. They wouldn’t have noticed the extra level of vigilance, or the extra tension in Sam’s shoulders as he tried to navigate life in a clump of people all of the time instead of with the solitude he was used to without snapping. Between himself and Jo they managed to get a decent description of Gordon to the others. Andy even helped them broadcast images of Gordon’s and Dean’s faces and voices to the rest so they’d be even better prepared, although there was only so much that they could do. The guys were professionals, top of their field. If they didn’t want you to see them coming, you weren’t going to see them coming. 

It was two days after Jo’s arrival that the first overtures came in. Jess’ hunting account got an email from Dean, reaching out on behalf of himself and Gordon in an attempt to consult about a case. He provided no details but gave them the same hints about demonic activity that Jo had mentioned. Jess hedged. She wanted more details – she wasn’t keen on letting actual demons run roughshod over the Bay area but neither was she keen on working with either of the men in question. Dean asked to meet with her face to face, saying he was uncomfortable discussing anything of the sort over email. He suggested the coffee shop where he’d dropped Jo off. It had once been a favorite of Sam’s, back in the old days when Sam didn’t feel the pressing need to isolate himself from crowds and strangers whenever he could. “I’m not comfortable with that,” he told her immediately. “Gordon Walker once took off a vampire’s head in the middle of a baseball game. The vic was right behind home plate. No one saw him do it.” 

“How does anyone know it was him then?” Andy wondered, scratching at the inside of his ear idly. 

“He bragged about it at the Roadhouse.” Jo stretched. “And the decapitation was in the papers. The guy’s bad news.” 

“Well, no one’s supposed to be going anywhere alone,” his wife pointed out. “You’ll be there – not meeting with him,” she amended at the look on his face. “Just nearby, in case of emergency. And someone else, someone not on the radar. I’m thinking maybe Andy and maybe Jake? That way Jo can stay here with Scott and Ava and Lily, just in case. I know you don’t like it, you’re not comfortable with this and honestly I’m not exactly keen to meet the guy face to face all things considered but I’m just not okay with the possibility that demons might be running around somewhere.”

“Plus he knows that we know each other,” Jo added with a nod at Jess. “If she doesn’t meet him he’ll get suspicious.”

Sam subsided into silence. He could have been more graceful about it, but that just wasn’t in the cards. His body felt like it didn’t fit in its skin. There was no way this was going to work out well. 

The next day – a Saturday, fortunately, so this impending disaster of a meetup couldn’t interfere with classes – he made his way into the coffee shop with his laptop, a few books and insides so jittery he almost ordered a decaf just to be safe. He was the first to arrive of the entire party on either side of the arrangement and he was pleased to note that the most strategically sound seat in the house was open. He had a great view of every entry and exit, even the restrooms and the employee areas as well as an unobstructed view of the entire seating area. He even had a vanilla latte. Now all he had to do was wait. Gordon was the next one to come in. He took a seat across the room from Sam, not seeming to take any more interest in Sam than he did in any of the other patrons. In some ways that in and of itself was suspicious; he knew that he stood out, being as large as he was. Still, the hunter took up his position and waited. Jess and Andy entered within about a minute of each other, Jess first followed by Andy. They gave no indication of being Scrabble partners on Wednesday nights, almost as if they’d practiced this sort of thing before. As an indication of just how serious a situation this was Andy actually paid for his order, using money that he’d solicited from Sam earlier in the day. Jess took a table within one of Sam, Andy taking one of the more casual chairs near the fireplace. Jake came in next, taking up a spot between Gordon and Jess. That might not have been the best move. The hunter frowned and fidgeted. He didn’t like the idea of his line of sight being broken, but he didn’t move seats. That would have been too obvious. Sam hoped that it wouldn’t cause a problem for Jake in the future though.

Finally, after another five minutes, Dean arrived. He didn’t order anything particularly complicated, just a plain black coffee. Some things never changed. Sam’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t like his voice had changed over the years, or that his sweet tooth had gone away. Sure his coffee was black (gotta drink your coffee like a man, Sammy) but the place was having a special on almond croissants so Dean was taking three of them like one wasn’t enough sugar and fat to get you through a week of hunting. And that voice – God, that voice. He hadn’t heard that voice since sophomore year, the last time Dean had tried to get him to leave school and come back to hunting. (“Of course Dad’ll take you back Sammy, once you prove yourself. Come on, the longer you wait the longer it’ll take, I just want us to be a family anymore, don’t you love me?”) He kept his fingers busy typing on the laptop, although he couldn’t even tell what language he was typing in anymore. That was bad. He had to stay in control. If he lost it now who knew what would happen? Dean could never know he was here, he couldn’t even know he was alive.

His brother scanned the crowd, not even taking notice of Sam except for a contemptuous snort at the sunglasses. He probably assumed he had a hangover – that was the plan, anyway – before sauntering over to the table where Jess sat. “Jessica Singer, I presume.” He smiled that slow, sexy smile he always offered women. 

Jess returned a cool, professional smile. “Dean Winchester.” She couldn’t keep the chill out of her voice. Sam fought to keep his visible attention on his work and on Walker. “What can the son of the infamous John Winchester possibly want with me?” 

His eyebrows rose. “Infamous? Lady, I’m pretty sure we’re on the same side. You’ve got a great reputation when it comes to demons.” 

“I’ve been studying demons for a while,” she admitted. 

“Then you should know my father wasn’t exactly a slouch in that department. I’ve been hunting them my whole life.” He frowned. “You look familiar. Sound a little familiar too. Did you go to Stanford?” 

Shit shit shit. “Yeah. I did.” Jess met his eyes. 

“Your name was Moore then, wasn’t it?” Dean leaned back a little in his seat. “You were engaged. To, uh, to my brother.”

One corner of his wife’s mouth quirked up. “I figured you’d forgotten all about that, Dean. You made it pretty clear that you weren’t interested in his problems at the time. I had to learn about demonology to try to help him since you wouldn’t. And so here we are.”

“What do you mean?” She laughed a little, and here was that hardness that had crept in while he’d been in the Pit. “Oh, Dean. The… thing… that took him showed up for me. The plan was for him to have been off with you. I don’t know what was up with that, why Brady thought that you and Sam would be anywhere together but that was what he expected. Sam was supposed to come home and find me dead on the ceiling. Just like your mother. It was supposed to drive him back into the family fold for whatever reason. Instead he was with me, and he volunteered to go with the demon so that I could live. I called you for help and you left me and your brother to rot.” The venom dripped from her voice. Sam had a hard time not flinching from it. “So forgive me if I’m not exactly keen to be helpful to you now, but I don’t really see where I owe you a thing.” 

Dean opened and closed his mouth for a moment. Sam ached for him. She’d hit him where it would hurt hardest, right in the “family,” and it would take a minute to process. “Okay. But if there really is a demon coming through in the area you can’t be okay with that. Not after Hell took so much from you.”

“Give me your data. I’ll take a look at it in private and get in touch.” 

Dean hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded and passed over a manila folder. “Look, Jess, I did what I had to do. Our dad –“

“I don’t care.” She gave him a thin, false little smile. “I’ll email you when I have something to tell you.” She took the papers and walked out of the coffee shop. 

Dean buried his face in his hands for a moment, then he went over to Gordon’s table. After a brief conversation they left together. 

Sam paused. A familiar sensation brushed at the back of his brain, one he hadn’t thought he’d feel again. For a moment he knew nothing but bowel-shaking fear, but he was able to hold himself together enough to recognize the subtle differences. The bitterness was lacking, for one. So was the arctic chill, the absolute zero of Lucifer’s true form. 

He forced himself to breathe normally. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe an angel of a different stripe had just looked in, for reasons of its own. Hey, if one existed (and he certainly did) why not more? The psychics departed separately, Andy leaving first so he could “encourage” the hunters to refrain from following Jess. 

Sam was shaking by the time he made his way out into the sunshine. It was as close as he’d been to Dean in years. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to repeat the experience. The urge to get closer was just too strong.

*

Castiel’s instructions came directly from Zachariah. The problem, the senior angel informed him, was simple. “Hell’s power is growing,” he informed. “The balance between the realms is threatened and demonic activity on Earth threatens humanity more than ever before.”

“But the Apocalypse has been delayed,” the seraph pointed out, all of his faces frowning. 

“Demons are not limited to the Apocalypse for their plans to slaughter humans,” his superior informed him with a sneer. “That was the grand plan, of course, and they were united behind Azazel. When he was killed they fell to pieces, but it seems like they’re starting to unite behind a single leader. She’s promising death and destruction on an unprecedented scale. We’re supposed to be the guardians of our Father’s favorite creation, Castiel. It is for us to defend humanity and counter this assault.” 

“But if we are not to fight Hell directly until the Final Battle…” 

“We may assist humans to some extent. Humans who hunt demons, such as your charge Dean Winchester. It has been determined that it is time for you to reveal yourself to the Righteous Man and explain your mission to him. He has fallen into company that will turn him away from the path of justice.” Zachariah smiled, and even as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent his smile was nasty. “You have tried to steer him towards reuniting with his brother, have you not?”

“I have, sir. I have encouraged him to spend more time among the Harvelles and with the priest, James Murphy. He has not yet begun to seek out his sibling. It is possible that their bond is too severely damaged to be healed.” 

“That would be a shame. Nevertheless, we believe that it is possible that the younger Winchester should perhaps be within his brother’s orbit. He is tainted, of course. But it is possible that he might not have gone completely over to the other side yet. He is the one who slew Azazel. If he has not yet given himself over to darkness it may be useful to have him in our arsenal, Castiel.” He flared his wings once and settled them. “Consider that united they will have more of a chance of preventing whatever Hell is cooking up. And that the Righteous Man is more likely to be able to prevent his brother from falling into darkness than anyone else.”

“You wish me to be more direct in encouraging Dean to reunite with his brother,” the younger angel surmised.

“Yes, Castiel. We feel that it is important that he understand the seriousness of the situation. I’m sure he’ll come around once he knows what’s at stake. Heaven has a job for him. And it’s keeping an eye on his wayward little brother. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Personally Castiel didn’t feel that “wayward” was a description that necessarily suited Sam Winchester, but it was not his place to question the orders of someone like Zachariah.

And so he descended unto Earth to try to encourage the Righteous Man. First he tried to act as himself. After all, the Righteous Man had been intended to be the Sword of Michael. He should be able to hear Castiel without the need for an intermediary, right? As it turned out this was not the case. Perhaps with more exposure to angelic Grace that would change but as things stood at present when Castiel appeared to him in a supermarket in Oklahoma he mostly held his hands over his ears, closed his eyes and tried to duck out of the way of the exploding glass of the freezer case doors. Human authorities blamed terrorism and increased surveillance and stop-and-frisk attacks on dark-skinned people. 

Apparently the use of a vessel would be necessary. The angel found the concept distasteful. He was not a human and he disliked the idea of trying to fold his true form into the sack of skin and blood that formed a human. Orders were orders, though, and he duly found the line of his true vessel. Jimmy Novak, the adult male scion of the family, was an exceptionally devout man and eagerly replied to Castiel’s request with “Yes!” Perhaps he should not have assented without hearing more about what the job would entail, but Castiel could not prevent him from shouting his cooperation when he revealed himself. 

Maybe he just wanted to get away from all of the “Pray Daily!” magnets that covered every metallic surface in the home.

It took him a moment or two to adjust to being contained in such a way. Jimmy, as expected, found the process painful. Castiel shut him down, isolating him in a dream state in the back of his mind. It wasn’t perfect, but it would keep him insulated from the worst of it. Once he had figured out how fingers and toes worked and how to keep his grace from shining through the orifices at inappropriate times he set out from the home. 

Dean was in Palo Alto by now. Space didn’t apply for angels the same way that it did for humans. All that he needed to do was think about Dean and he was near his location. He made sure to appear outside the coffee shop – out behind the dumpster, where even the two employees having a cigarette break and complaining about the customers’ oddly specific demands would not see him. He sent a tendril of his grace into the establishment to ascertain the actual status of his charge and found him to be healthy. Dean sat at a table, sitting across from his sister-in-law. Not that he knew that, of course. 

Others were present, others who made Castiel acutely nervous. There was a man there, a human whose soul was best described as sick. His thoughts were sharp, jagged things that pulsed with hate but they didn’t seem to be directed toward anyone present at the time. The bride resented Dean, of course, but that was only to be expected. If Dean did not attack her she was unlikely to attack him in public. Two of the demon-blooded psychics sat in the café, watching the proceedings. Sam was there too, the taint being more on him than in him – a surface-level taint that couldn’t dull his soul even though it tried to contain it. Castiel could see so much more of the scars left behind by his experiences now, this close to him. The shadow of Lucifer loomed just over the boy’s shoulder.

Even though Dean couldn’t sense Castiel without a vessel Sam’s head snapped up as Dean left the coffee shop. His eyes, blocked by smoky lenses, turned to look directly at the space where the angel was watching. That shouldn’t have been possible. Shocked by the Abomination’s acumen, he jerked that tendril of Grace back to himself. He hadn’t wanted to announce himself. Sam Winchester was not his issue. He was not authorized to interact with Azazel’s unholy spawn, not at this point. He couldn’t help but notice the way the boy’s hands shook when he perceived the angel; for all the praying that the creature had done over his life perhaps he might not welcome contact from Heaven after all. 

He flew to Dean’s motel room, such as it was. He’d watched over all of the Winchesters for decades so he knew that this was not the worst of the places that the man had temporarily called home. It still repulsed him on some level to know that a man who had been intended to be the guardian of humanity and the representative of Heaven on Earth was relegated to sleeping in the remains of other humans’ bodily fluids and the bodies of various forms of insect. A touch sufficed to replace the mattress with a clean, sanitary and modern variant. A glance turned dingy and stained sheets into crisp new bedclothes, never before touched by human hands. Walls and a ceiling with suspicious markings were made new and whole. Empty liquor bottles disappeared – Dean’s father had been in the early stages of liver failure when he’d been killed and Dean’s own alcohol consumption had put him on a path to a similar fate. He replaced the liquor bottles with water bottles instead. He’d noticed that Dean’s hydration levels were sub-optimal when he’d seen him in the café. Perhaps now that he was permitted to interact with him directly he could take a more direct hand in attending to his health. He rid the room of pests with a wave of his hand – fleas, lice, flies and their maggots, mice, the rats in the walls. It wasn’t difficult. Then he sat in the chair (that hadn’t existed until he deemed it necessary) until Dean came back. 

He had a long time to wait; evidently Dean chose to go to a bar with his soul-sick companion to discuss the case before returning to his room. The angel was unsurprised to find that his charge returned to his room alone. He was not unaware of Dean’s tendency toward promiscuity; he’d already had to intervene to deal with the consequences of more than one ill-judged choice of partner. Today though Dean had been forced to confront facts about himself and his family that he hadn’t been prepared to face. He wouldn’t have been so open to amorous company under those circumstances. The Righteous Man had many vices, but he made use of different mechanisms at different times depending on the need. Right now he would seek numbness, not release. When the door opened he let Dean adjust to the changes. “What the…?” He stepped backward, checking to make sure that he was in fact in the right place.

“This is the correct room, Dean.” Castiel allowed himself to become visible. “The room was not clean. It was not fitting.” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” Dean’s hand was on his knife. “How about you tell me who you are, buddy. And maybe why you’re in here.” 

“I needed to speak with you, Dean. This seemed to be the best place to do so. My name is Castiel.” 

“Uh-huh. Ever hear of a phone? Email? Coming up to a guy in a nice and public place like a coffee shop? ‘Cause I gotta say this whole staking out a guy’s motel room – that’s a little sketchy, dude.” His hand came up not with a weapon but with a flask of holy water, the contents of which arced out and splashed Castiel in the face. 

“I am not a demon, Dean, although I can see where you might have suspected this to be the case. I know that you were concerned about demonic activity in the area and you were right to be concerned. It is about the demons that I wished to speak with you.” 

Now Dean came up with a handgun, aimed at Castiel without shaking or hesitation. “Okay, not a demon. What are you?” 

“I’m an angel of the Lord.” 

The human snorted and one side of his face curved. “Right. And I’m the Trix Rabbit.” 

Castiel frowned and drew his eyebrows together. “You do not appear to have a fluffy tail, nor have you long ears.”

“Are you for real? Geez. You’re not a goddamn angel, dude.” 

“Why do you believe that I am not an angel, Dean?”

“Because there’s no such thing.” 

Castiel stood and allowed the shadow of his wings to appear on the wall behind him. The man could not tolerate the actual sight of his wings, pure Grace as they were, but this much would be safe and would hopefully be sufficient to convince him. He allowed just a tiny bit of blue-tinged Grace to show through his eyes as well, just for emphasis. “I am an angel, Dean,” he insisted, power rumbling through his borrowed voice. “And I am here because Heaven has a plan for you.”

To his credit Dean’s gun didn’t waver. His face did pale and he licked his lips. “A plan for me, huh? I’m a little busy right about now.”

“Yes, the hunt for the demons. And for the psychics. You needn’t worry about them just now. At present those in the area are harmless. They have no interest in hurting humans and mostly want to be left in peace to live human lives and occasionally play word games in the evenings.”

Dean sneered, although he put his gun away. “Yeah, that’s what they’d have you believe. Have you actually spoken with them?” 

“I can see into their hearts, Dean. I have been watching them since Azazel was slain. There were three of them in the coffee shop you visited today.”

His eyebrows climbed. “What? We could have taken them out while we had the chance!” 

“Dean, you had no reason to ‘take them out.’ They made no move against you or against any other full human. They drank their coffee.” He tilted his head to one side. The title of “Righteous Man” might be purely genetic. 

“They have demon blood in them, Cas. They’ll turn eventually.” 

He wanted to shake him, but it was possible that he could use his charge’s bias against him. The shortening of his name gave Castiel some pause, but he decided not to address it. Perhaps Dean found three syllables challenging? Or perhaps it was merely a function of the fatigues of the day? Had he forgotten the full name? “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But in the meantime it is possible they and their abilities may be useful to the cause of Heaven. I should think that actual demons would be of more concern to you. It was actual demons – Azazel and his sort – that murdered your mother, and carried your brother into Hell.”

“So that Jess chick was telling the truth.” He stroked at his chin, his voice barely a whisper. “Look, Sam made his bed when he walked away from his family. He knew the consequences. If he’d stayed where he belonged when he should have he would never have died, and she would never have been put in danger either. You feel me?” 

“I am not touching you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Work with me here. But yeah, I see what you mean. Are you saying that you know that actual demons are here in San Francisco?”

“I’m saying that Heaven has become concerned about events in Hell, and that activity in the Bay Area has increased. Also, you assume that your brother is deceased.” 

Dean drew back, looking at Cas out of the side of his eye. “Are you telling me that Sam is still alive out there somewhere?” 

“Dean, Sam was in that coffee shop today. He sat two seats away from you. He did not trust you to meet with his wife without someone to back her up.” 

Dean staggered over to the bureau. He needed something to support himself on. “Excuse me?”

“Your brother has been out of Hell for two years now. He is not unaffected by his experiences, and of course he was one of Azazel’s brood to begin with. He is… he is a creature – a man of power. It would be best if that power were steered toward Heaven, considering that it has already been touched by Hell. Do you not agree?” 

“You want me to watch him.” 

“It would be best if he were not left to his own devices. And you’ve already asked your sister in law for assistance.” 

Dean flinched at the title. “All right. Um. All right. I’ve got to… I’ve got to think… “ 

“Don’t think too long, Dean. Hell will not wait.” 

Castiel returned to Heaven. Perhaps he could have been kinder, gentler. At the same time, Dean had needed a push. He didn’t think that appealing to his charge’s better nature with regards to his sibling would work at this stage. Once they were reunited of course that would all change.


	3. And No One Saves Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sees Sam. Hunt, Sam, hunt. Cas explores the wonders of the American diner.

Sammy was alive. 

Dean wasn’t sure how he was supposed to handle that information. He’d gone for four years believing his brother to be dead. What else was he supposed to think, after all? He’d gotten that call from Jess and then nothing. Dad had told him that Sam was most likely dead and Dean had accepted it, because Dad had always been right. Only if this guy – this angel – was right, then Dad was wrong about this, because Sammy was alive. 

Sammy was alive. 

Angels were real, and Sammy was alive. He’d mourned, in his way. He’d mourned when Sam had left them, because when the kid had walked away for school the kid had become as one dead to the Winchesters and they’d all known it. He’d mourned when he’d gone to ask Sam to come home and Sam had turned him away. “Dad won’t have me back, Dean,” he’d said in a thin and lost voice. “And that’s okay. I don’t want to hunt. Stay here, Dean. We don’t have to die before we’re thirty, you know. We can have lives. We can know where our next meals are coming from, we can have real jobs that don’t involve anyone trying to kill us at all ever, we can keep all of our blood inside our own bodies. We can get married. You can start a family if you want to – you’d be a great dad.” He’d mourned when Sam had been taken, and again when Dad had told him that Sam was most likely dead. 

Sammy, though, Sammy was alive. 

Of course if Sammy was alive he wasn’t necessarily still Sammy. Wasn’t that why an angel had busted into his motel room and tidied up the place, rendering it into a facility better suited to a servant of God? Castiel had referred to Sam as a “creature of great power,” not as a person or even as a little brother or anything like that. No, he was a “creature.” And why not? He’d apparently been in Hell for something like two years. That wasn’t going to leave a guy untouched was it?

He picked up his laptop and emailed Jessica. “I need you to call me ASAP,” he told her, including his phone number. “I won’t trace the call.” 

The call came back within two minutes. “What do you need, Winchester?”

He ran the number that came back. It was a burner phone, no GPS. “I need to see you. Tonight, if possible.”

“It’s past midnight,” she objected flatly. 

“It’s important,” he insisted. “I’ll come alone. Gordon doesn’t even know I’m having this conversation with you, but I need to see you and I need to see you tonight.” He took a deep breath. “And I need you to bring Sam.” 

She inhaled sharply. It was the only evidence that she gave of anything resembling distress. “No.”

“That wasn’t a request, Jess.” 

“I’m not putting him through that,” she growled. 

He inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly. “Look. Until five minutes ago I had no idea that he was even alive. I just want to see him. I want to talk to him. I want to know he’s okay.” He felt his voice break and hated it just a little, but if it helped him to get what he needed he wouldn’t fight it. 

“You couldn’t have cared less about his welfare four years ago. Even if I trusted you not to harm him, which I don’t, it was hard enough for him to be near you in the coffee shop earlier. I’m not about to ask him to subject himself to more trauma so you can live out whatever macho hunter fantasy you’ve got going on.”

“A guy can’t re-think in four years? He’s the only family I’ve got – well, I guess you both are,” he amended grudgingly. “I mean, you are married to him, right?” 

“Damn straight I am,” she spat. “Dean – the guy was in Hell for almost two centuries.”

“What are you talking about? He was gone for two years.” 

“Time moves differently down there,” she chuckled softly, and there was no humor to the sound. “Think a decade for every month. You can maybe imagine why I don’t want to subject him to more trauma than I need to. Or maybe you can’t.”

He sighed. “Look. There’s a twenty-four hour McDonald’s near campus. There’s not a lot of people there this time of day but there should be enough that you can feel comfortable coming in.” 

She snorted. “Catch Sam eating McDonalds.” 

“Shows how much you know. He used to love the Happy Meals.”

“’Used to’ being the operative term.” 

“Look. Just offer. Ask him what he wants. Bring as many people as you want. I just want to see him.” He paused. “I need to see him.” 

He barely knew the woman but he could almost see the eye roll even over the phone. “Fine. Hold on.” He heard a faint thud as the phone was dropped. After about five minutes she returned. “If you do anything to hurt him – if he even has more trouble sleeping than usual – I’ll make sure you live a good, long time, Dean Winchester. Meet us there in one hour.” 

One hour? Where could they be living that it would take so long to get in to campus? “Fine.” They hung up without further exchange of pleasantries. 

The next step was Gordon. He liked the guy and respected him just fine, but he didn’t have any illusions about his degree of sanity or trustworthiness. The angel was the obvious solution, but how to get in touch with him? He closed his eyes. Sam had always been the one who paid attention when Pastor Jim talked about religion and all that crap. “Uh, now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to keep Gordon Walker nice and asleep too?” 

The angel appeared in his bedroom. “I was under the impression,” he rumbled, “that you intended to go out and interact with your brother.” 

Dean blinked. “Were you… were you listening in on my conversation with Jess?” 

“Yes.” Cas nodded once, eyes wide and innocent. 

“Do you have any sense of privacy?”

“No. I have been watching over you and your father since before you were born. I have cured you of three doses of syphilis and one dose of gonorrhea. I healed the cuts when Lauren Katz’ braces became problematic when you were in the ninth grade –

“ Dean held up a hand to cut him off, cheeks scarlet. “Thanks, Cas. I think that’s graphic enough.” He winced at the memory. “Listen, I got them to agree to meet up. Can you do something to keep Gordon from following me? Like keep him asleep for the rest of the night or something? If there’s a hunt there I’ll tell him but…” 

“But you wish to ascertain your brother’s wellness for yourself.” The angel nodded and disappeared for a moment, reappearing on the other side of the room. “It is done. You will have no issues from him.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He sighed. “Is there anything I should be prepared for? Before I go in?” 

“I have not interacted directly with your brother,” he admitted. “It was judged that you would be a better candidate for Heaven’s attention.” He glanced to the side. “As I mentioned, your brother is of Azazel’s brood. My superiors are uncomfortable with the idea of an angel interacting directly with a creature touched by Hell, even if he is not necessarily a creature of darkness himself.” 

He frowned. “So what you’re saying is that Sammy could be evil.” 

Castiel looked confused for a moment. “Anyone could be, Dean. But Heaven prefers to keep itself at arm’s length. We thought you would be eager to reunite with Sam. Are you not pleased to have the opportunity?” There came that head-tilt again, with the dark hair all rumpled like he’d just gotten out of bed. Did he really not understand Dean’s discomfort? “Do you not want to see your brother?” 

“It’s been six years.”

“It has. Too long.” “A lot can change in six years.” Especially when demons and their blood got into the mix, he added mentally. 

“To an angel six years is no time at all.” He smiled thinly, like he didn’t really know what a smile was for. “Remember what you once loved about your brother and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

Easy for him to say. He’d never been abandoned, left behind for “normal” and college and a roof and a girl and regular meals. He got himself together and headed back into town, casing out the McDonald’s. He was fifteen minutes early by the time he walked in, and they were there already of course. There was Jess looking pissed as Hell, pun absolutely intended, and sitting next to her slouching and hunched in on himself was the behemoth of a man who he’d seen in the coffee shop. 

This? This was his baby brother? The last time he’d seen Sammy he’d been taller than Dean already and he’d finished his growth spurt, sure. Now he was even taller although by how much was hard to tell with the way he was folded in on himself. Sammy’d been a beanpole when they were kids. This guy – he wasn’t trying to show his bulk but even earlier it had been clear that the guy was stacked. His leg bounced uncontrollably, the way Sammy’s had whenever he’d been agitated, and he looked down at the table with long hair obscuring his face. He held a pair of sunglasses in one hand and passed them to the other hand while flipping them over on their axis. 

Jess kept one hand on his back and watched Dean as he approached the table. “For the record I’m against this,” she glared.

“Yeah, I got that,” he ground out in a clipped tone. “Heya, Sammy.” 

Sam glanced up through his hair. Those hazel eyes were still there. Dean couldn’t imagine them ever changing, even in death.

“Dean.” So much there in one syllable, pain and fear and relief and wariness and a grief so profound the hunter thought he could almost reach out and touch it. “This is a surprise.” 

“Yeah. Well. Coulda done this sooner but I only found out you were alive you know, two minutes before I emailed your pretty lady here.” He made himself smile and sat down across from his brother before his knees buckled under him. “It’s, uh, it’s a lot to take in. You look good, though. You got big.” 

He huffed out something like a laugh. Once upon a time Sammy had laughed a lot. Was Sammy still in there somewhere? “Yeah. It’s been a while.” 

“You were still kind of a beanpole the last time I saw you.” He made himself grin. “I guess you’ve been eating your Wheaties or something.” 

“Yeah. Or something.” He looked away. “Um. How’ve you been?” 

God this was awkward. It shouldn’t be this awkward, this uncomfortable. What had happened to the days when they’d just slotted together like interchangeable parts? “Okay. I’ve been hunting, you know. Like you do. Dad died a few months back.”

“Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The hunter blinked. “Sorry for my – You knew? You heard?” 

He moistened his lips. “Uh, yeah.” 

“When?”

He exchanged a glance with his woman. “When it happened, pretty much,” he muttered. 

Dean gaped. “And you just… what, went about your day?”

Jess squeezed Sam’s bicep. “What else would you have expected me to do, Dean?” his brother rumbled. 

“I don’t know, show up for the funeral or something!” he exploded. “Christ, what is wrong with you?” 

He gave that half-laugh again. “Dean, be honest with me. If I’d showed up there out of the blue what would you have done?”

“I’d have been happy to see my brother alive!” he insisted. 

“Come on, Dean. When Jess called to tell you I’d been taken you told her you didn’t want to know about it. Then you told her to come and find a real man. I show up only a year and a half out of Hell I’d have been lucky to just get a punch in the face.” He spoke softly and without bitterness.

“Keep that up and you still might,” Dean snapped back without thinking. “Seriously, you don’t call for two years to let us know that you’re still alive? He died thinking you were dead or worse!” 

His brother met his eyes. “Why would I have thought I had that option, Dean? What part of ‘You walk out that door don’t you ever come back’ was I not supposed to take seriously?” He shook his head. “Look, we’ve been over this. I’m pretty sure you didn’t just want to meet up to open old wounds.”

“I just wanted to see my little brother.” Dean leaned back in his seat. “Jesus, Sam. We’re the only family we’ve got.” He tried to get a hold of his temper. How was he supposed to keep an eye on the kid if he couldn’t get him to even open up for him? 

“Except we’re not. Married, remember?” He put an arm around Jess’ shoulders briefly and some of the tension went out of both of them. “I get that you didn’t get off on the right foot, but you have a sister-in-law.” 

“He did tell me not to bother sending an invite,” Jess pointed out. Dean growled at her. She smiled back, showing teeth.

“So…” Dean hedged. “I guess the thing that killed Mom is dead.” 

“He is,” Jess informed. “We were both there.” 

Well that was news. “Sam, you were there and you didn’t call and tell us yourself?”

“Yeah. “ 

“The hell, Sam?”

“You’re hunters, Dean.” He sighed. “Even fresh from the Pit I wasn’t dumb enough to think that you were going to let me just walk away. But yeah. He’s gone. Not coming back.” 

“How can you be so sure?” he pressed. “I mean, demons can be exorcised but they can’t be killed. Not without the Colt and I’ve heard that’s not what took him out.” 

Jess bit her lip. “It’s not.”

“Then he’s not dead.” 

“He’s dead.” 

“Sam, you can’t know that for sure.”

“Actually I can.” He sighed. “Dean, look. It’s great to see you –“ 

“I know you’re one of his kids.” 

Sam froze, his tan going sallow. “What?” 

“I know you’re one of the… the kids. Azazel’s kids. The psychics, Sam.” 

“The ones you came here to hunt,” Jess accused, hands disappearing below the table. 

“How do you know about that?” he demanded. 

“Psychic, remember?” Sam smirked. He sat up straight, shoulders relaxed. “That’s why you really wanted to meet. You’re here hunting me.”

“No!” he insisted. “I didn’t know –“

“Shut. Up.” Sam rose, using his full height, before leaning down and into Dean’s space. “Azazel is dead. You know what he did to me, like the rest of us. Now think of all the things I learned in Hell, how I managed to survive.” He paused. Dean tried to spring to his feet but invisible bonds held him down. “That’s right. Go ahead and try to figure out how I know that Azazel is dead. Do the math. You’re a damn smart guy, Dean. I know you can do it.” 

Jess put a hand on his arm. “Sam.”

“Sorry, Jess.” He stood up but the pressure on Dean remained. “Dean, it was nice to see you. I’m glad you’re doing okay. I wish it could have been different. But you’re not hunting me. You’re not hunting us, angel or no.” Sam and Jess walked out of the restaurant.

Dean slumped in his seat, head in his hands. That hadn’t gone at all how he’d envisioned it, not that he’d had a chance to envision it at all. He hadn’t really had a chance to reconnect with his brother, he still had no idea where Sam stood on the whole good-evil scale, and oh yeah Sam thought he was trying to kill him. 

He had work to do.

*

Sam made his way back outside as quickly as he could without actually running. Jess had trouble keeping up, but he ducked into an alley as soon as it was expedient to do so and leaned against the wall until he felt the calloused touch of her hand on his. “You okay, babe?” she demanded. 

“Honestly? No,” he admitted. His hands shook, his arms shook, his whole body shook. “He’s here hunting me, Jess. Hunting us.” 

“He had no idea that you were alive when we met earlier,” she assured him, moving her hand to his back. “Honey, I honestly don’t think he did.” 

“But he came here to hunt ‘Azazel’s kids,’ he reminded her. “I mean, Jo told us that’s why he and Gordon came. And I’m the biggest freak of the bunch. I stand out. And I just lost my temper and poked the bear with a stick. I’ve just damned us all, Jess.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay. We need to warn the others and get people to start packing. I think maybe, uh, no, not Flagstaff, it’s someplace I’ve been before –“

“Sam, no. We’re not letting your asshole brother run us off,” Jess informed him firmly, coming to stand before him. “I mean yeah, I kind of hate the guy. But I don’t think that he’s going to hurt you. I honestly think that he wanted just… to see you.” Steps coming up the road to the alley set Sam on edge but they turned out to belong to Jake. “Honey, I really think you’re getting pretty worked up over something small.” 

“So that was Dean Winchester,” the former soldier commented. “I’ve got to say, white people family reunions don’t go the same way our family reunions go. That kind of sucked.” 

“Yeah.” He let out a breath. “Oh my god. I can’t… I can’t even process this. He’s here hunting us.” He brought his hands up to his hair and began to pull. 

“The Winchesters aren’t exactly a typical family,” Jess frowned, gently taking his hands down. “They cut him out years ago. Come on. Let’s get home and deal with things there.” They had to wait for Andy of course, but Andy showed up after half a minute and the quartet made their way back to the house. It wasn’t far of course. 

Sam didn’t bother trying to get to bed; it was a useless endeavor anyway. He spent the time doing schoolwork and then yoga until he could get away with running, hoping to calm himself down. It worked – sort of. At least he felt less inclined to scratch his own eyes out. 

Dean reached out to Jess right away, as in as soon as he got back to his motel. He told her that he honestly hadn’t been hunting Sam, that he’d received “recent information” that made demons a higher priority right now. Well, of course. Some angel was following him around; maybe it was what was pulling his strings? It didn’t promise anything for the future, of course, and it didn’t say anything about the other psychics. He told her that he wanted to meet up with Sam again and try catching up again, but Sam declined. Even the other psychics thought that was a terrible idea, whether because of paranoia or because of the effect that it clearly had on their brother was debatable. Jess firmly declined, explaining truthfully that such a meeting was not in Sam’s best interests but that she would cooperate on the subject of the demon signs. No one was comfortable with the demon signs.

The demon signs indicated activity taking place in Petaluma, a little bit north of San Francisco. It was a hassle to get to from Palo Alto to Petaluma what with traffic and everything but they managed to get out there and do some poking around on their own. Weather had been exceptionally bad just in a couple of places, livestock had been dying off and acting strangely by turns and there had been an upswing in violent behavior in a population that generally behaved fairly placidly if eccentrically. So there was absolutely something going on there. Finding sulfur around the sites of some of the most egregious locations was just icing on the cake, really. Talking to witnesses proved that Dean and Gordon were not willing to let Jess and company take point on this. “You guys are a lot easier to talk to than those FBI guys,” scoffed a goth girl in the ice cream parlor as Sam and Lily sat and chatted with her under the guise of anthropology grad students. “They were creepy.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Feds are always creepy. It’s all the touching.” 

Sam had to acknowledge that she might have a point. “They do place a premium on hand-shaking,” he grinned. “I think it’s some kind of ritual. I don’t know.” The girl herself was clean, he could tell that from across the room never mind across the table. “So you say your uncle just started digging in the dirt?” 

All of the details from the various witnesses involved digging for some reason, people digging in the dirt and not finding whatever it was that they’d been looking for. After doing their fieldwork he and the others returned to their home to regroup and discuss with the others what they’d found. Clearly the demons involved were looking for something, but there was no clear indication what they might be looking for. Nothing on the surface of course. 

The great thing about being part of this family, this new family, was that none of them were exactly intellectual slackers. They all chose a line of reasoning and went after it. Lily started poking into strange deaths and house fires figuring that demons might not mess with a good thing. Scott and Jo went with the weaponry angle, looking for any indication that any kind of new weapon might be getting developed. Ava focused on the agricultural aspect of the place, looking into possible demonic inroads into food supplies. Jake looked into the deep history of the place, the early Spanish colonization and the pre-Columbian people who had dwelt there. Maybe they had left some kind of clue as to why demons might be interested in the Egg Capital of the World. Andy showed more interest in the fact that the place was the home of a major amplifier manufactory. Could they be seeking to use that in some way? Sound had been shown to do some wild things in the past, both in terms of torture and in terms of magic. Sam concentrated on the town itself, in aggregate. He hoped that if he could find a pattern to the occurrences he could maybe figure something out about the demons’ goals or about their end game.

He called up a map on his laptop and plotted out all of the incidents on the screen. His father, rest his soul wherever it had wound up, had relied on road maps tacked to motel walls. They’d never once gotten a security deposit back, not even once they’d gotten a computer and Sam had managed to demonstrate the usefulness of technology in their work. Now he could sit and draw connections between different sites, layer maps showing different occurrences with different frequencies to see if there was any overlap and as his new siblings came back with data he included it into his map. It took him a few days but what he got back was actually relatively reassuring. All of the demonic signs were taking place in different parts of the region, but it all came to a stop in a perfect circle around the St. Vincent De Paul Catholic Church. The building was pretty enough but that strongly suggested that the building was warded somehow. That didn’t necessarily mean that the building contained whatever the demons wanted, but it was probably a pretty safe bet. Sam was not a betting man. 

He set up for scrying, and this time he wasn’t about to mess around with water or whiskey or even wine. He explained himself to the others, especially to Jess. She objected, which he’d anticipated. He gave her a smile. “Look,” he promised. “I’m not going to be doing this in the bathroom by myself; it’s not a self-harming thing. I’ll be doing it right here in the living room in front of you and whoever else wants to be here when I do it. You can make the cut if you want to make sure I don’t cut too deep, you can bandage me up and everything. We just… I’m really nervous about what they might be looking for and if we can afford to let Dean and Gordon find it. It’s been safe inside that church so far; how safe is it going to be once some hunter takes it out?” He glanced at Jo. “No offense.” 

“None taken,” she smiled thinly. “I mean, you’re right. We need to know.” 

His wife sighed. “All right. But it’s a one-time thing, okay? Only because there’s a freaking angel hanging around your brother; it kind of ups the stakes. Do we know how to kill an angel?” 

Sam winced. “I’ve never tried. But if it’s not an archangel I can probably at least do something to it, you know?” He shivered and she held him a little closer, trying to share her body heat with him. The attempt helped more than her actual physical heat. He prepped his bowl and Jess made the cut and within seconds he could see into the crypt beneath the church. He didn’t even feel the hands bandaging the cut on his arm. 

Oh, this room was warded all right. The walls inside this chamber had been painted thickly with symbols he could barely recognize – old wards, more or less pictograms that had never really been meant for human eyes or hands but had been adapted nevertheless. A simple wooden box lay on the altar in the middle of the crypt, and he knew a curse box when he saw it. The warding, though – it was intended to keep out demons, and it was intended to keep out angels. The skeleton in the corner, long since crumbled into a heap of bone and sackcloth, had expired as it had finished creating the wards. At least he – probably he, there was no veil or wimple – had hopefully finished them, since the demons could not seem to access the room. 

Then the scene changed. Sam caught a glimpse of a woman – ash-blonde hair, green eyes. He saw her smirk as she grabbed the curse box in gloved hands and step over the corpse. Another flash, and the woman (dressed less like a cat burglar and more like a socialite this time) handed the box over to a man in a black suit. Sam could see the red, writhing void within him. Crossroads demon, then. He saw hellhounds gnawing on the thief, a look of betrayal on her face. He saw Dean, bleeding on the floor in the nave of the church. 

He pulled himself out of the vision. “You have to call Dean!” he gasped. “You have to call him!” 

“What is it?” Jess demanded, grabbing his arm as Jo carried the bowl away to clean it up. “What’s wrong?” 

“Vision. While I was scrying. He’s in danger.” 

Ava came in with a bottle of fruit juice. Suffering the same “gift” meant that she knew what would help to get him back on an even keel after suffering an episode. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a tip for you. He’s on his way to the church right now. Had a vision just a little while ago.” She grimaced. “Did you get a time frame on yours?”

He concentrated for a moment. “No…” he admitted. His hands shook a little as he accepted the bottle. “Not exactly. I think we’ve got a little bit of time. A few days? A week? It was hard to say.” 

“Okay. Good.” She grabbed her keys and jacket. “Well? Come on, let’s go! You’re not going to let him just go walk into something are you?” 

Sam and Jess exchanged glances. Jake shrugged. “I’ll come with,” he offered, and the four were off. 

Jess had a tendency to drive like a racecar driver so it took substantially less time to get to Petaluma than it otherwise might have. Sam might have been more concerned with that another time, considering the amount of weaponry and the very much AWOL soldier they had in the car, but this time he couldn’t shake his anxiety about Dean long enough to worry about a speeding ticket. Fortunately for everyone they had no law enforcement encounters and made it to Petaluma in record time. 

There weren’t a lot of people around at this hour, so finding Dean and Gordon wasn’t exactly a problem. The pair were on their way into the church via a service entrance toward the back in the basement and Sam barely managed to keep it closed telekinetically in time for the Palo Alto crew to get in the way. “What the Hell, Sam?” Dean snarled. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Not hardly,” Jess snorted. 

Gordon barely moved, but suddenly there was a gun aimed at Sam’s forehead. He didn’t move. “So you know this freak?” the wiry hunter demanded. His words were angry but his tone was perfectly calm. 

“He’s Jess Singer’s husband,” Dean explained. Sam felt a pang of loss for a moment, but he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t as though he really expected that Dean would want to acknowledge him as his brother. He’d come here to hunt him after all. To a guy like Dean – to a hunter like Dean – Sam would never be anything but a freak, a monster. He knew it because he saw it in the mirror every day.

“Listen, we’ve figured out – thanks to the information your wife sent us – that the demons want something that’s in this church.” “We know,” Jake rumbled beside Sam, encircling his wrist with one hand. Had his eyes flashed yellow again? Oh God, what if they had? “The thing is, they’re circling around this place but they don’t enter it. Why do you think that is? Just don’t like the architecture? Too much whitewash?”

“Whatever they’re trying to get at is protected in here,” Jess pointed out. “The crypt is warded against demons and angels. They can’t get in. But if a human gets in, gets the shiny and gets out – well, they can do what they want to humans, for the most part.” She glanced up at Sam. 

“Now how would you know that the crypt is warded?” Gordon sneered. His gun hadn’t wavered. Wouldn’t his arms start to hurt after a while, holding them out at an angle like that?

“I’m psychic, you ass,” Sam spat. He wanted all of the hunter’s attention – and hatred – on him. He could take care of himself; he knew how these guys thought. Jake might be able to fight pretty well but he’d never been immersed in the mindset and was still pretty new at the paranoia game. “I saw it. And I saw what will happen to Dean if he goes near it. Hence why we hauled ass all the way up here instead of putting our feet up and watching ‘Burn After Reading.’” 

The corners of Gordon’s mouth drew back a bit, and after half a second Sam realized that it was his version of a smile. “So you didn’t see what would happen to me.” 

“No, I just don’t care what happens to you. Dean has a reasonably decent reputation that won’t last if he keeps working with you. Yours is shit. Civilians keep getting killed when they’re anywhere near your hunts and you’re not exactly one to show much concerned for the victim of a possession.” He shrugged. “Get torn apart or don’t, it’s not much to me.” He tried to put as much nonchalance into his voice as possible – Gordon was still human so he did actually care, at least a little, but he had to make it look real. 

Dean’s eyebrows drew together. “Did you just say you cared what happened to me?” 

Jess rolled her eyes. “Can we not right now? Your little buddy here has a gun pointed at my husband’s head.”

“Put the gun down, Gordon. He’s not exactly our highest priority right now.” Dean turned to his companion. “We gotta do this before the demons figure out what’s going on and take advantage –“ 

“Too late.” Sam felt a telltale stirring in his blood. “They’re here. Five or six of them.” 

“What, is that another of your freak powers?” Dean spat. “Demon counting?” 

“Not the time, Dean,” Ava warned. People – well, possessed people – were striding from the shadows already. “Kind of busy not dying?” 

Sam’s heart raced. There was nothing else for it now. “Put the gun away, Gordon.”

“You’re crazy, Sam. Whoever you are. I’m not disarming around some freak and oh yeah, a bunch of demons.” He shot one of the demons, currently riding a young Asian man in a tracksuit, in the forehead. The man’s eyes went black and he laughed.

“Well that was effective,” Jake commented. “He’d have lived if you hadn’t’a done that.” 

Sam focused and raised his hand as the other psychics crowded behind him. The next closest demon came out of its host easily, returning to Hell even as its body kept walking forward. The host collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Sam didn’t waste time on self-congratulations. The first demon, the one Gordon had shot, lunged for him and stabbed at him. This one he didn’t bother exorcising. He simply extinguished it with a thought, not something he liked to do or was proud of but he knew that the host body was dead anyway. 

Jess was rattling off an exorcism as Jake fought off another demon. Ava did the same, trying to hide behind the pair as her fighting skills were not exactly top notch. Sam exorcised another easily as Dean and Gordon eliminated the final monster with another exorcism. When all was finished Gordon, bloody and bruised from the fight, turned to Sam and shoved his gun into his face. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end you here and now,” he insisted, his tone still oddly emotionless for someone who clearly had been grievously offended. 

Sam didn’t react to Jake’s presence. It would have ruined the surprise when the super-strong former soldier punched the hunter in the back of the head, dropping him like a rock. 

“Someone call 911,” Jess directed. “These people are all going to need medical attention, especially the ones who are recovering from possession.” 

“What about Gordon?” Dean demanded. “I can’t just leave him here, his gun’s the one that killed that demon!” 

“No, his gun’s the one that killed that man who was possessed,” Sam growled. “The host could have been saved. He was perfectly healthy until Gordon put a bullet into his goddamn brain.” 

“Sammy, sometimes you can’t save people no matter how hard you try,” his brother told him. 

He flashed back to having been told that once before. He’d probably been about eleven and they’d been hunting wendigo out in the woods somewhere, and the victims had died. The last living victim had died in his arms and Dean had tried to console him with those same words. “Like you tried so hard to save me?”

“Sam –” He cut himself off. “Look, we’re family.” 

The psychic snorted. “Right. You were so eager to acknowledge that earlier. Look. There’s a woman, okay? She’s looking to get her hands on whatever’s in that crypt and you’re in danger from her.” 

“She a demon?”

“Don’t think so. She used a gun in the vision and they’re not overly fond of firearms. They don’t need them.” 

“You’d know, I guess.” 

“Fuck you, Dean.” He forced himself into calm although he couldn’t quite unclench his fists. “Look. We don’t have time to argue about this crap.” 

“You’re right. But I’m not leaving Gordon here to take the rap for killing a demon.” Sam seethed but didn’t interfere when Dean tilted his head up. “Castiel? Er, Our Castiel who art in the Castro, maybe?” 

There was a rustle of wings, the vague surge of Grace and a man appeared in their midst. 

Sam could feel the presence of the angel, the same presence he’d felt before. He jumped between the others and the creature, ready to fight. “Sam, are you okay?” Jess demanded. She didn’t touch him, none of them did. They all knew better when he got like this. 

“He doesn’t look like much,” Jake added. 

“He’s an angel,” Sam growled from between clenched teeth, eyes on the monster. He could feel the power within it – within him – threatening to smite him and all of his family where they stood. “Believe me, if you were to see his true form the way your eyes are now –“

“-You would be left blind,” the creature supplied in a low, gravelly voice. “You prayed for me, Dean?” 

“Yeah. Can you get Gordon out of here? I don’t want him to take the rap for ganking a demon –“

“A victim of possession,” Jess objected. 

“And the cops are going to be here soon now that shots have been fired,” the blond finished with a baleful look at Sam’s wife.

“I see.” He threw Gordon over his shoulder with no effort. “I will attend to him. It is well that you connect with your brother, Dean. He saved your life tonight. Go with him. I will catch up to you later.” Castiel and the hunter disappeared in a rustle of wings.

Ava scoffed, a few drops of hysteria maybe tinting her response. “Angels, huh? Oh good. That’s all we need.” 

“You got a problem with angels, sister?” Dean snarled, walking up to her and getting into her face. 

Sam inserted himself between his brother and the secretary. “Anyone in their right mind has a problem with angels, Dean. They’re not the fluffy-winged little helpers they used to tell you about when we were kids.” He started to usher the others toward the car. 

“Hey, you’re the one who used to pay attention at Pastor Jim’s during all that Sunday school crap. I was hiding porn in the hymnal,” Dean reminded him. In front of everyone. 

“Yeah. Well, I guess the Church drank the Kool-Aid on a few things because believe me when I tell you that angels are not your friends. They’ll smite me where I stand given half a reason and the fact that your little buddy didn’t? That shouldn’t make you feel good, Dean.”

“Sam, he’s the one who told me you were even alive in the first place, all right?” Dean turned to him and for a moment he looked so broken, so devastated that Sam almost believed him. “If it weren’t for Cas I’d still believe you were dead, that I was alone in the world. So cut the guy some slack. Now come on, we’ve got to get out of here before the cops show up.”

“Dean, you can’t trust him!” 

“Why don’t you explain to me why I can’t trust him someplace else, huh? We’ll go find a diner and you can lay it all out for me plain and simple. Or I can come over to your place.”

“No,” replied all of the psychics in unison.

“The diner will be fine,” Jess smiled tightly. 

“I want to speak with my brother alone,” Dean insisted.

“Look – no. It’s not going to happen,” Sam shook his head. “You’re a hunter. And I’m prey, fair game. I get that. I don’t hold it against you, you can’t help it and neither can I. It’s just the way things are. But I’m not exactly eager to have a bullet in my head either, you know? So we’re going to meet up somewhere nice and public, with plenty of other people around. Okay?” 

Fury and despair warred on Dean’s face, but he ultimately had to yield. “Okay. Just In Time Diner, soon as we can get there.”

“You got it,” Jake assented. 

*

Castiel brought Gordon to the motel. The soul-sick man’s room was just as fetid as Dean’s had been when the angel had first invaded it but he did not feel the compulsion to amend the space. Perhaps he should; Walker was not part of his mission but was not helping the humans a part of his father’s plan for angels? Had it been any other hunter he certainly would have cleaned the place up a bit. This man, however, made the line of Righteous Men look positively tolerant when it came to the supernatural and while celestial Castiel remained firmly outside the realm of human, he did not wish to create further difficulties for his charge with in that regard. Instead he healed up his wounds and ensured that he would sleep until Dean chose to wake him. 

On the one hand he had been in close physical proximity to Samuel Winchester. This was technically outside the parameters of his mission. He had not only been near Sam, he had spoken to him although he’d turned his back as he spoke; would Zachariah and Naomi see a difference? He could feel the taint surrounding the boy, and he could feel all of his emotions as well. There had been the adrenaline from the fight – well, that wasn’t so much an emotion as a simple chemical response. There had been fear, too. He’d been afraid of Castiel – deeply afraid, but not the kind of fear that leads to cowering in a corner. He’d thrust everyone behind him, to include Dean, and put himself between his people and the perceived threat. Castiel realized that he was not the first angel that Sam had met. A moment’s reflection told him the reason for that. He’d sensed the demonic presence that was part of Sam, that would forever be part of his nature and could never be erased. 

He’d sensed something else too – a tiny shard of something so old and so shattered and distorted that he almost hadn’t recognized it. It was too awful to contemplate. The boy had been in Hell, but would he really have been brought before Lucifer’s Cage? Would even demons have exposed a human to their Master’s twisted grace, and for long enough to leave pieces inside of him? Why would they allow that? Whatever their plan for Sam had been it surely required him to be both alive and of sound mind. Clearly he was of sound mind, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, now but for the life of him Castiel could not understand how. 

Of course Castiel had not been the only object of Sam’s fear. His brother had been as well, and that was well outside anything the angel had been expecting. He’d predicted some mistrust but he’d expected it to be more on the side of the Righteous Man – after all, Sam was the one who had left the family, who had chosen to abandon the cause. And that roadblock existed and perhaps existed more strongly than he would have thought it would. Dean had almost fallen over when given the news that Sam lived, but he had apparently not reconciled with Sam as of yet because the younger man clearly feared him. 

Sighing, he returned to Heaven to address his concerns to his superior. He explained the reason that he had broken the rule about revealing himself to Samuel, although Zachariah seemed fairly uninterested in his reasoning. “The rule was that there was to be no interaction as yet with the Abomination, Castiel,” the senior Seraph objected.

“If it is any consolation, sir,” Castiel offered, “he was able to sense me even before I took a vessel.” If Zachariah had been in possession of a body at the moment and not a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent he would have gasped. “I believe that he will be more tractable if he believes that I am not planning to harm him or his family.” 

One of his superior’s four faces’ lips pursed, which is difficult in a terrestrial lion but not a celestial one. “Very well. You may approach. I would advise against fraternizing, Castiel. He was intended to be Lucifer’s vessel. Even before Azazel got his hands on him he was damned.”

It seemed inconsistent with their Father’s plan, to condemn an infant soul to the Pit, but it was not for him to question. “Of course, sir.”

With that dismissal he returned to Earth, to Dean. He could not find Sam on his own but Dean was like a beacon to him, and he knew that where he found Dean right now he would find Sam. Those were the instructions he’d left with Dean, and Dean was a good soldier. He would do what was necessary. He found them in a tawdry little diner, the sort of place that catered to people who lived off-schedule from the rest of society for whatever reason. Cas had never paid all that much attention to the comings and goings of the bulk of humanity; he supposed this was a deficiency he ought to correct at some point. Sam and Jess sat on one side of a diner booth and Dean on the other. The other psychics sat in a booth behind Dean. He materialized in the seat beside Dean, making everyone but Sam jump. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean objected, mopping up the spilled water with his napkin. 

“No, I came alone.” 

“Did you just –“ The hunter threw his napkin onto the table in disgust. “Of course not. Angels don’t joke.” 

“Of course they do, Dean,” Sam smirked. “You just don’t want to know what they find funny.” 

Castiel winced internally. Before the Fall Lucifer’s sense of humor had been legendary, but things would have changed in the Cage he supposed. Or perhaps before, when humanity had been created and Lucifer had begun his descent into hatred. Sam would not have gotten the best glimpse at angelic humor. “Sam Winchester,” he greeted. “The boy with the demon blood.” 

“It’s Murphy now, thanks.” Sam did not extend a hand. 

“In the eyes of the law, perhaps. Heaven will always see you as a Winchester.” He made his vessel’s lips curl up into a smile, hoping that the gesture would be seen as welcoming. 

There was no such luck to be had. “Heaven overrides the Winchesters themselves, I suppose.”

“Sam, don’t be like that.” Dean rolled his eyes and slouched back in his seat. “Quit being a little bitch already, would you? We’re together now, let’s just –“ 

“Let’s just what – forget the fact that you came here hunting people like me?” Jess nudged his elbow with her own and he looked up, clearing his throat. Dean sat up straighter. Clearly something was about to happen. The angel paused. He heard footsteps. Someone was coming – was it time for fighting? 

A human approached, bored and perhaps somewhat achy in the calves and feet. She paused at the table with the rest of Azazel’s brood and asked what she could “get” them. Orders were given, and then she moved closer. “What can I get you?” she asked in a similarly bored sounding tone. “I’ll have the French toast special,” Jess smiled at her. “Sausage, please.” 

“Just coffee for me,” Sam requested. “Black.” 

Jess glared at him. “He’ll have the omelet special with spinach, feta and sun-dried tomatoes. Side of hash browns, please,” she corrected. “What? You haven’t eaten in two days.” 

Dean ordered something called a “short stack” with a side of bacon and then the woman stared at Castiel, tapping her pencil against the side of her notepad. “Come on, sugar. You gonna get something?” 

“I am not in the habit of eating,” he objected. 

Dean elbowed him. Hard. “He’ll have the French toast too. Side of bacon. He doesn’t eat out often,” he continued with a sly grin at the waitress. “Kind of a homebody if you know what I mean. Sorry about that.”

She softened. “No problem. Let me get you all a round of coffees, too.” 

When she disappeared Dean glared at him again. “Dude. If you’re going to be hanging around humans you have to learn to act the part. That means not saying things like ‘Oh look at me, I’m a freak, I don’t eat.’” 

“That is not what I said,” Castiel frowned, glancing at Jess and Sam. “Your brother was not going to eat.”

“Sammy never eats when he’s all worked up about something,” the blond snapped. “Should’ve seen him when he was a kid. Mom and dad would have a fight and next thing you know he wouldn’t eat for at least a day. Mom took him to the doctor about it once.”

“She did?” Sam’s face lost a little suspicion and possibly twenty years. Castiel recalled that he knew essentially nothing about his mother, nothing about the time before the fire. 

“Yeah. Dad was – well, I don’t know where he was, to be honest. I was really young, four and a half, you know? But they’d had a really big fight, and you couldn’t have been more than two months old or something like that – it was bad.” He shook his head. “Still can’t believe you grew up so tall eating the way you did.”

“Yeah, well,” Jess frowned, putting an arm around his shoulder. “He’s pretty amazing.”

“Samuel –“ Cas began.

“It’s Sam. Just Sam.” The man himself spoke again, toying with his fork like it was some kind of safety device.

“Sam. You have little love for angels. You were perhaps indoctrinated against them?” Cas continued, pressing.

“Not so much with the indoctrination.” He sighed and closed his eyes once. “Only met one – one who was still an angel, anyway. He had more than a little bit to say on the subject though.” His hands shook. 

“Lucifer may have a bit of a bias, Sam.” 

“He may be right to. I’m not saying he’s a good guy – far from it – but when it’s your family casting you down into Hell and leaving you there it tends to give you a certain perspective on things.” His breathing sped up and he clenched his fists, looking to stop the shaking.

Jess squeezed him lightly. “You’re out, Sam. You’re safe.”

“It’s never safe, Jess. Not really.” 

“Heaven means you no harm, Sam,” Castiel insisted, putting a hand on the youth’s arm. He meant it to be reassuring. He had seen such gestures used before by the descendants of Adam; it should be vaguely effective with this one. 

He found himself pushed back by a force he could not see. Sam’s head jerked up, eyes yellow. “I need to step outside,” he growled. “Stay here.” 

Castiel had no choice about staying there – he could not move, even if he expended Grace. The idea that a human, or a demon, or whatever combination thereof Sam Winchester could be described as, had the ability to restrain him thusly shocked and frankly frightened him. He would need to make a note of it and warn Zachariah. Once Sam was outside the diner Castiel found himself released. “I… he should not have been able to do that,” he informed his companions.

“Sam’s time in Hell was very traumatic,” Jess observed, raising an eyebrow. “We try not to talk about it. Or remind him of it. Ever. So good job on that.”

Dean made a face at her. “He’s my damn brother.” 

“You called him a little bitch.”

“He’s being a little bitch! It’s supposed – it was supposed to be me and him against the world.” He shook his head. 

“You are correct – it was supposed to be the two of you. Initially.” Castiel felt he could confirm at least this much. “You were waiting outside his apartment when your father went missing. Instead you left alone and called someone else to assist, leaving Sam alone. It was intended that you and your brother reunite at this time. Why did you not?” 

Dean shook his head. “He had a girl, he had a roof over his head. Like he was going to give that up to get back on the road.” He glared at his sister in law. “He didn’t want us.” 

“Bullshit,” she spat. “He didn’t want your father, that’s true. And he didn’t want your whole hunting… thing. But you – you he loved.”

“Sorry sweetheart.” He leaned back, spreading his arms wide and winked. “Package deal. That’s how families work, see?” 

Castiel frowned. “I do not think –“ 

“I said,” Dean insisted, “that’s how families work. You’re either all in or all out.” 

Jess blinked. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. How… how do you think that families are grown, Dean?” She leaned forward eagerly. “Do you need someone to tell you how babies are made?” 

The waitress approached, looking nervous. “I’ve got your French toast specials,” she offered, balancing a large tray in one hand and distributing them liberally. “And the short stack. Did the gentleman with the omelet leave?” 

“I had to step outside to take a call.” Castiel hadn’t even noticed Sam returning to the diner, but here he was looming behind the waitress like he’d teleported in. “Thank you.”

“Oh! Wonderful. You just let me know if there is anything else you need.” She walked away as though afraid that the tension might bite her. The angel couldn’t think of any circumstance under which familial tension could become flesh and actually bite a person but he was no expert in the ways of human families. 

The giant took his seat again. “So. Castiel. I’m curious,” he said in an oddly flat tone. “Why is it that an angel is so interested in us anyway? I mean, Dean tells me that you told him that I was alive, and I’ve been pretty careful to hide that fact.” He poked at his omelet. “So… why is Heaven getting involved with one human family? Seems kind of… petty, doesn’t it?”

He let himself smile a little. “Heaven has a plan for you.” He had watched television – religiously themed television of course – and this seemed to be a thing that comforted humans.

Sam and Jess and Dean exchanged glances. “A plan,” Dean snorted as the other two tried to hide smirks behind bites of food. He supposed that if it got some nourishment into Sam it would be worth it. “Care to share any details, there, Roma Downey?” 

This was not usually how this went on television. “Well, as I mentioned, you were not supposed to have been separated for so long a time. It was intended that you collect your brother –“

“Senior year. Right,” Sam interrupted, sounding frustrated. “I’ve heard all this before, from Azazel. But he didn’t. So what?”

“You and Dean were not simply brothers, Sam,” he admitted. “The pair of you were intended to be the human aspect of the final battle between Heaven and Hell. Of course because the necessary set of prerequisites was not reached that did not happen, but the pair of you are more than just yourselves. You are instruments of human destiny.”

“I’m not even sure that he is human,” Dean objected, jerking a thumb at Sam. “He kept an angel pinned with his mind!” 

“And yet I can’t keep your mouth shut,” Sam muttered around a mouthful of broccoli and egg. “What makes you think either one of us is interested in being on Heaven’s payroll?” 

Dean slapped a hand on the table. “See, that right there is what’s so fishy. It’s Heaven, Sam. The good guys.” 

“They’re just the ones with the good PR, Dean. If we’re so… vital to humanity’s destiny or whatever why didn’t Heaven take a hand when I was on Alastair’s rack in Hell? Or when Dean lost his dad?” Sam smirked. 

Cas frowned. “We are fighting Hell, Sam. You killed Azazel and that left a power vacuum. The intent – Hell’s intent – was that you fill it, but you did not. Others have been jockeying for position. A few contenders have out-slaughtered the others and now they are becoming dangerous to the living world. I would think that you would be willing to fight to stop them.” 

“Them, yes. I’m just not sold on you not being just as dangerous.” 

“Let me prove myself to you. Let Heaven prove itself to you. But don’t condemn Earth because of your pride.” That should work, right? 

“You would dare accuse Sam – Sam! – of pride?” Jess scoffed. “That’s rich.” 

“Just… try, okay?” Dean sighed. Cas didn’t know when Dean had suddenly become a believer but here he was on Cas’ side all of a sudden. “Just… work with us on this hunt. Okay? It’ll be just like old times.”

“You do realize that it’s the old times I was trying to get away from when I left for Stanford, right?” Sam objected, dropping his fork.

Dean grinned.


	4. And No One Knows Where The Edge Of The Knife Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Gordon break up. Sam and Dean make a sandwich. Castiel gets a phone.

Dean wasn’t surprised to find that Gordon had ditched the next morning. He supposed that he should have considered himself lucky that the guy hadn’t tried to kill him in his sleep or messed with his Baby or anything, all things considered, but he couldn’t really blame him for ditching at the end of the day. The guy had been confronted with psychics, after all, and found out that Dean even knew one of them. Then he’d been knocked out. He could see where Gordon might feel a little bit betrayed. It hadn’t been what happened – Dean hadn’t controlled any of that, but Gordon had no real way of knowing that. Dean would’ve been pissed off too. He went about his business of getting breakfast and looking for information about anything related to the church or what might be inside while he waited for the other shoe to drop. Maybe research had always been more Sammy’s thing instead of his, but it had been eight long years since Sammy had ditched and he knew how to do his job thank you very much. 

Gordon did eventually find him in the library. It wasn’t like Dean was hiding or anything. “I’m surprised at you, Dean,” he stated. No one looked at him at all. His voice was quiet, it was always quiet. It wasn’t enough to bug the bluehairs or teenagers using the place; it was like no one could hear him but Dean. “Choosing freaks over your partner. A partner you’ve worked with. Who’s done right by you,” he added with a shake of his head.

“It’s not like that, Gordon.” Dean couldn’t explain, not everything. He swallowed and rubbed at his stubble. “I ain’t the one who decked you and I sure as hell wasn’t just gonna leave your unconscious ass there for the cops, you know?”

“So how did I get back to the hotel?” 

“Angel.” 

“Really.”

“Really. Angel.” At the look on Gordon’s face he gave a little chuckle. “I guess that the demon thing in that church basement is bigger than we thought, because Heaven sent someone to ‘help’ with it.” He shrugged. “He’s the one who put you back in your room and made sure the one who hit you didn’t do any real damage.”

“Is this angel around now?” 

“No, dude. He’s off doing whatever it is angels do when they’re not sticking their noses in where they don’t belong. Counting their feathers or telling little Catholic boys not to masturbate, I don’t know. But this thing in that church basement – it’s bad news.” He grimaced. “It’s bad enough news that they sent five demons after it.” 

“And you’re willing to just take the words of those… things, those freaks, for it?” Gordon sneered. “I mean, Dean, come on. I’m surprised that a demonologist like Jessica Singer would let herself be compromised by marrying one of them. That’s… that’s shocking. Maybe she thought she could turn him.” 

Dean couldn’t do more than shrug. Telling Gordon the truth wasn’t exactly going to make Sam safer, was it? “I’m sure the thought crossed her mind a time or two. According to Castiel – that’s the angel – the psychics aren’t really the priority. The actual demons are.” 

“He’s probably in bed with them.” The older hunter looked away for a moment. “Who knows what those freaks can do, Dean? It’s not right. It’s not natural. They all have to go. They’re polluting the gene pool. I mean, Singer and her husband, they don’t have any babies do they?” 

Dean came close to choking on his own tongue. He should have been happy at the thought of becoming an uncle. Instead the thought made his blood run cold. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t even manage to be happy for his own brother? “They didn’t say.” 

“Can you imagine them filling the world with part-demon hybrids? There would be no way to know who was pure and who wasn’t. It would be… it would be like little sleeper cells, all over America. All over the world, eventually. And you’d never know when they were going to turn, because they will turn. Every last one of them. They can’t help themselves. It’s in their blood.”

“The demon who made them, he’s dead,” Dean made himself say. “From what I understand he was a pretty big deal. I don’t know that other demons could do what he did.” 

“You have to consider where you’re getting your information from, Dean! These things want you to believe it. They want you to think that they’re safe. What would your father say if he could hear all this stuff about these things walking the earth?”

“He’d say real demons take precedence over people who can choose to do the right thing, Gordon. And who are choosing to do the right thing,” he added, knowing that he was full of crap. John Winchester would not have tolerated anyone with Azazel’s blood in them breathing air, not even if one of them was Mary’s son. Especially not if one of them was Mary’s son. “Look, I’m not saying they’re saints. I’m not even saying that they’re human, because I’m not sold on that. But I am saying that whatever they are it’s not as bad as real demons – as Lilith, coming to do whatever it is she’s after in that church, Gordon. I mean, from everything I’ve been finding she’s the very first human that Lucifer turned. That’s got to count for a lot, you know?”

Gordon shook his head. “Sorry, Dean. I’m sorry you’re so compromised. Maybe you think your baby brother’s still out there somewhere, redeemable, one of these things. But your daddy, he would have known what to do.” The hunter got up and left.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean ground out, trying not to draw any more attention than he absolutely had to. Concentration blown, he left the library and went to the car to attend to his next order of business. Jess Singer-née-Moore hadn’t really owed him anything when she’d kept the truth about Sam’s resurrection from him, but someone else had. He picked up the phone and called Bobby Singer. 

The junk man picked up on the second ring. “Singer Salvage.”

“How long have you known, Bobby?” Dean demanded. 

Bobby sighed. He didn’t even have to ask for more details, and somehow that bothered Dean more than anything else. “Since he got back,” he admitted. 

“Jessica Singer – that should’ve tipped me off. I guess Pastor Jim’s in on it, if he’s calling himself Murphy these days.” Dean leaned his head against the glass of his window. “Christ, is there anyone who didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t risk your daddy finding out, Dean. Especially not when he first got back. So you’ve spent a little time with him.” He paused. “What do you think?” 

Dean paused. He wanted to scream at the older man, yell about how the guy had no right to keep this from him. At the same time he’d clearly had his reasons. It wasn’t like they’d ever asked Bobby to get involved with any kind of search. Or done any kind of search at all. “He’s… it’s hard, Bobby. He doesn’t trust me. And, uh, some things are different.” 

“Mmm-hmm. I’m sure the eyes are a balm to your soul.” 

“He’s kept them… I guess under control? Until last night anyway.” 

“He was pretty upset about that.” Bobby slurped from a cup of coffee. Maybe it was a bottle of whiskey but somehow that tended to sound different over the phone. “Thinks you’re there to hunt him down.” 

“Nah. Gordon Walker wants to but he didn’t see that.”

“Gordon Walker? Jesus, Dean. Strange company you’re keeping.” 

“Hell, at least he’s not keeping secrets from me!” Dean shot back, banging his head against the headrest. “Look. I’m not going to hunt the kid, okay? I’m… there’s stuff happening and it’s kind of a big deal. I guess.”

“Angels and crap. I heard.” 

“Jeez, he talks to you an awful lot.” “He doesn’t talk to much of anyone but Jess. And even that’s hard for him sometimes. Dean, you’re forgetting he spent close to two centuries in Hell. I’m surprised he’s walking and talking. Anyway, it was Jess who told me. I taught her about demon hunting. If she says he’s good you need to believe her.” He cleared his throat. “So the woman Sam saw in his vision is named Bela Talbot. She’s a Brit.” 

“She a hunter?” He recognized that Bobby wanted to change the subject. 

“The absolute opposite. She sells objects of power on the black market. Check your email, I know Sam sent you a sketch.”

“Why would he do that?” Dean blurted.

“Because he had a vision of you being murdered by her, dumbass? He may be terrified of you but that don’t mean he wants to see you dead.” Dean cringed. He terrified his brother. He put his brother in fear. How had things gotten to this point? “Anyway, in his vision she was working for a crossroads demon who then double-crossed her. So we may be able to work on her to bring her into the fold instead of killing her outright.” Bobby cleared his throat. “You’re not going to flip out because of the way he got the info, are you?”

Dean realized he was gaping. “No. No, I just, uh, didn’t realize. That he, you know. Was all that interested. He just seems to want me far away.”

“I don’t know, maybe ‘cause you’re a hunter?” He sighed. “Look. Talk to your brother. He said he agreed to work with you. But before you do, figure out what exactly you want from him, okay? He may be the size of a barn but I still don’t want to see anyone hurtin’ him.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Before he could stop himself he called the number Sam had given him last night. “You got time to meet up, maybe go over a few things today?” he wanted to know.

Sam was quiet for a moment on the other end. Dean could hear people in the background but none of them sounded familiar. “Someplace public,” he said. 

“Sure,” Dean agreed. “Where are you now? I can come by and we can chat.” 

“Um, I’ve got class. Let’s grab lunch on campus though. The student union has a food court, I’m sure you can find something greasy enough for you there. Sc – I’m told that the burgers don’t suck. Meet me at the Stanford student union at like twelve thirty, okay?”

Dean’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “You’re back at Stanford?” he sputtered.

“Yeah. We’ll talk about it when I see you, okay? I’ve got to go, the Criminal Law professor hates it when people are late.” The line went dead. 

Stanford. That place just would not go away. Of course the kid would go back there instead of turning back to his family, why wouldn’t he? It was where he’d turned in the first place, wasn’t it? It occurred to Dean that Sam hadn’t exactly had a lot of options, either. Maybe Dean would have wanted to see his brother again, but John – yeah, the whole thing with the yellow eyes and the powers, that probably would have gotten a lot of shooting first and not a lot of asking questions later. That didn’t make it hurt any less that Sam hadn’t even bothered to reach out, though. 

Dean drove over to campus and wandered around until he found the student union. He thought he caught a glimpse of Jo, but only out of the corner of his eye. There was no reason she’d be on campus; she’d tried college and it had been fifty shades of not-her-thing at all. Sam showed up on time. He looked good here, needed a haircut but that wasn’t exactly news. The crowd seemed to part around him, but they’d do that for any guy his size. He walked right up to Dean. “Hey,” he greeted. He didn’t seem exceptionally enthusiastic but the overt hostility wasn’t there either. “You want to go grab some food?” 

There was indeed a food court. Dean found the burger stand. They met up again and grabbed seats. Dean eyed Sam’s choice with suspicion. “You do know they don’t actually cook that fish, right?” 

“It’s sushi, Dean.” His bitchface was almost a perfect facsimile of the old Sam. “You want to try a piece?” 

“No. I have a rule. I don’t eat anything from the sea and nothing from the sea eats me.” He shuddered and glowered at the yellowfin. It glowered back, he was certain of it. It might not have had eyes (that he could see) but it was glowering.

“What about that kelpie back in Oregon?” Sam took a morsel of raw fish, rice and seaweed. 

Dean’s stomach threatened mutiny. “That doesn’t count. It was before the rule, Sammy.” He bit into his burger. Sam’s source was right. It didn’t suck. “So… still at Stanford, huh?” 

“Yeah. After I… after… Jess got them to let us finish our senior years and graduate. And they were willing to let me finish my application process for law school so here I am. Full ride and everything.” He shrugged. 

“So what, you figured one last hunt? I mean, Jess – she’s got a reputation, you know she’s hunting, right?” He ate a fry. 

“We’re all hunting, Dean. I mean, not full time. Not like you and Dad, we don’t travel too far. But we do what we can. We have advantages, you know? We try to use them responsibly.” He squirmed a little. “We don’t go looking for trouble but if we find it we deal with it.” 

“Huh. So all that stuff about leaving all the weirdness behind, wanting a normal life, what – that was all for show?” Dean put down his burger. 

Sam sighed. He’d eaten all of two of his sushi rolls and now he pushed the tray away. “Look, Dean. First of all what I said was that I wanted a safe life. A stable life. I have a stable life, between school and Jess and the others, and let’s face it, safe is relative now.” He kept his voice pitched low. “The plan, back when I started looking at schools all those years ago, was that I was going to hunt with you guys – or, you know, just you – on breaks or whatever. But, uh, that didn’t work out. So – no hunting.” He looked away. “Let’s just focus on the case we’ve got.”

“Sam –“ 

“No, really. Let’s just do what we came here for, right?” He cleared his throat. 

“I came to see my brother, man,” Dean told him frankly. “I want to… I don’t know. I mean, they sent an angel down just to try to make us work together again. Don’t you think that means something?” 

“I’m trying, Dean.” His voice wasn’t much above a whisper.

“That’s all I’m asking for.”

Sam looked doubtful, but he cleared his throat. “So. Gordon Walker.” 

“Oh. Yeah. He ditched. He’s not real happy about the whole…” 

“Yeah. I can imagine. I’d recommend finding someplace else to stay. He doesn’t know you’re my brother.” Sam glanced away again, just briefly. “Probably for the best all things considered. He can’t use you against me that way. But he’ll figure it out eventually. Um, the case. Bela Talbot. I sent you a picture.” 

“Right. Because you have visions now.” Dean shook his head. He hadn’t wanted the reminder of how freaky his little brother really was. 

“Actually I was getting them for a long time,” Sam volunteered. “I just didn’t know what they were. But yes. I get visions. They’re not fun and they’re something I try to avoid. They’re also difficult to control – there are techniques, but they’re never going to be precise. Like, I can’t tell if she’s there because the hit is on you or she’s there to steal the artifact or both or what. I do know that if you go near the artifact you’ll die. So don’t.”

Dean had never been very good at that chick-flick stuff. So he forced a smarmy grin, showing all teeth, and said, “Aw, Sammy. You wuv me.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t even know what’s down there. I’ve got people working on it.” 

“Bobby Singer one of ‘em, Sammy?” 

His brother deflated a little. “Yeah.” 

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” 

“Which, that Bobby knew or that I was alive? Because you never asked, Dean. You never did. And I get why, I do, but you don’t get to come around pretending that I’m the bad guy because I didn’t make some kind of announcement. That you cared so much that I was gone. Okay? Jess told you what happened and she told me what you told her. She told everyone else, too. Which is why they didn’t tell John and they didn’t tell you. I mean, I’m happy to see you, Dean. I am. I’m very happy to get to… to be around you again. But I’m not going to let you crucify me for what you think I should have done, should have known to do when you and I both know it wasn’t like that. Okay?” 

Dean rubbed his face. “I… yeah. I mean, I’m pissed. I’m pissed that I didn’t get the chance to fix it before now, okay? And I’m still kind of freaked out. I need time to figure out… what’s going on. What we’re going to do. But you’re my brother, Sam. I know things should’ve been done differently. Could’ve been done differently. But there’s nothing I can do about that now, okay? Just… we’re the only family we’ve got. Unless you and Jess…” 

Sam shuddered. “Oh God no. I mean we didn’t want kids before the whole… before Hell. There’s no way I’d chance passing all this mess on.” He gestured at himself. “Gah. Just… no.” 

“You seriously never wanted kids?” 

“No. Not ever. You know me, Dean. Put me around someone who’s under ten and I’m lost. Even when I was under ten I was lost. Just… no. What about you?” He toyed with a piece of sushi. 

“Nah. None that I know of. I mean, I wouldn’t mind, I always liked kids, but I don’t really want to raise one on the road, you know?” Sam nodded. He’d hated being raised the way they had. “Plus my one attempt at a long term relationship failed miserably so there’s that.”

“Sorry.” And he did look sorry at that, all concerned and sympathetic. 

He shrugged. “It happens. I guess. I mean hey, I couldn’t keep my own brother around right? No reason she’d want to stay. But yeah.” He’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t happy about the guilt on Sam’s face at that, although he couldn’t honestly claim to be proud of it. “Anyway. Lawyer, huh?” 

“Hopefully. Maybe I can actually do some good, you know?” His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. “Sweet. It looks like Ava’s found something for us. She’s at work right now but she’ll bring it home tonight.” 

“Work?” Dean scoffed. “Your people have day jobs?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. The ones who aren’t in school. I told you. We all want stable lives, Dean. Two of us are in school, the rest have jobs. That’s how it works.” He looked at his watch. “You’ll probably want to go check out of your motel, find someplace else where Gordon can’t find you.”

“I really don’t think he’s going to do anything, Sammy. He’s a good hunter.” 

“I don’t trust him, Dean. He has a reputation and he got it somehow. Just… “

“Let me stay at your place and I’ll consider it.”

Sam’s face got a drawn, faraway look, one his brother couldn’t quite read. Melancholy? Regret? Wistfulness? “Dean, look. You’ve got a fantastic reputation… as a hunter. And I’ve never said anything bad about you as a brother – far from it. I mean, I love you and I always have. Always will. But… I mean, your reputation as a hunter kind of…” 

Dean winced. “They don’t want me around because they’re afraid I’m going to stab them in their sleep.” &

ldquo;Uh, yeah.” 

“Is there anything I can do to convince them I’m, you know, not going to stab anyone in their sleep?”

“Probably not. Not right away.” Dean nodded, stung, and Sam reached out. “Look, Dean, it’s… I mean, a hunter shot two of my folks last year. He shot them. They – we – have a reason to be very, very cautious, okay? I mean, they’re really going out on a limb working outside the family at all.” 

Hearing Sam call anyone else family was like a stab to the back. “I’m your family!”

“You are. But… I mean, you haven’t wanted to be that in a long time, and it takes a little getting used to. I’m not opposed,” he hastened to add. Dean’s face must have looked less stoic than he intended for Sam to be scrambling like that. “It’s just… I guess it’s hard to go from hiding and being afraid all the time to barbeques and football games, you know?” 

Dean had to acknowledge that. “So where does that leave us?”

“Getting you a new place to stay. Come on, my buddy Luis has a spare room in his apartment. He has no idea where we all live but he gets it, and he’s cool. I already talked to him.”

Dean made himself breathe. Sam wasn’t casting him aside. He still wanted him around. He was willing to let him be around his friends, and if he was sending Dean to stay with this guy presumably this one was actually human. They were going to be working together. He wasn’t leaving him, they were just getting to know each other again. It was going to work out. Right.

*

Sam helped Dean to get settled in with Luis, who had no clue about demons or psychics or hunting but knew that Sam’s brother was emphatically not in Jess’ good graces and understood that Sam needed to keep the peace somehow. He brought his old friend a case of beer as a thank you. He let Dean talk him into hitting a bar before they headed out to meet up with the others, and they sat back and caught up over some beer. “Should we call your angel?” he asked his brother. 

“My angel?” Dean objected. “What makes him mine?” 

“He seems attached to you. Follows you around.” Sam shrugged. “He only shows up when you’re around, for starters.”

“What, you can sense angels now?” 

“Yeah.”

“Are there a lot of angels in the Pit for you to practice on?”

“Just one.”

“One?” Dean’s face paled as understanding dawned. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So how do you reach yours? He got cell service in Heaven or what?” He forced a light tone into his voice, made himself sit back with a wide stance. He could do this, he could fake nonchalance and comfort. It wasn’t all that hard now.

“Uh, I pray.”

He didn’t have to fake laughing into his beer. “You. _Pray_.”

“What? What’s so funny about that?” His cheeks pinked up, highlighting the freckles.

“Dean, you switched out all the hymnals at Pastor Jim’s for copies of Tom Jones. You praying is about the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.” He sipped from his beer to make himself stop laughing.

“All right, chuckles, how about we see you let go and do a little praying, huh? See if you can get Castiel down here.” 

Sam shook his head. “Nah. Believe me, the only angel that ever heard my prayers is not someone you want showing up.” Lucifer would have liked Dean. He’d liked what he’d seen of Dean in Sam’s head, anyway. Of course Dean was different now. So was Sam, if he was being honest with himself. “Go on. Call him down. If he’s supposed to be working on this thing he should, you know, be part of it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “The guy’s a creeper, man. He’s always watching. All the time, watching. Okay, fine. Hail Castiel, full of mayonnaise, the force is with you.” 

“And also with you,” Sam murmured automatically. He didn’t even think of it, it just came out – a by-product of getting left behind at Pastor Jim’s so often (and thus going to Mass on a regular basis) and being a die-hard Star Wars buff. 

Dean cracked up. “Dude, you didn’t.”

“Sorry.”

The familiar sound of flapping wings brushed against his consciousness and the angel appeared at the booth. “I am not full of mayonnaise, Dean,” he informed his charge earnestly. “Mayonnaise is a condiment. I am an angel of the Lord, not a sandwich.” 

Sam burst into laughter for the second time that day. Dean’s snickers were muffled by his jacket and elbow but the fact that his feelings ran the same way was easy to discern. “Sorry,” he choked out. “We. Uh. Ava found some information but we need to wait until it’s time to meet up. We figured you would want to be there.” 

“You figured he would want to be there,” Dean corrected. “Ham and cheese on rye.” 

“Dude, you don’t make that with mayonnaise you make that with spicy mustard.” He glanced at Castiel, who seemed to be entertaining doubts about their sobriety. “Can I get you a beer, Castiel?” 

“I am an angel. We don’t require beer.” He blinked. “If you were the one who thought I should be part of the discussion why is it Dean who called for me?” 

Dean smirked. “On that note I’m getting another round.” He got up and went back to the bar. 

Sam met the angel’s eyes. He didn’t bother trying to keep his eyes a natural, human color or appearance. “You can’t hear my prayers, Castiel. You’re Dean’s angel, and that’s fine –“ 

“I can hear your prayers just fine. At least I used to be able to hear them. It has been several years since you’ve bothered with prayer.” He hesitated, then put a hand over Sam’s. 

Sam pulled his back after a moment, turning his eyes back to hazel. The Grace felt different – there were no words to describe how different Castiel’s Grace felt from Lucifer’s – but Grace was still Grace. “You heard.” 

“Yes, even from Hell your prayers were heard. I longed to act but it was forbidden. I am grateful to see you among the living once again, Sam.” Castiel gave what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, although it honestly put Sam in mind of a serial killer. 

“’It was forbidden,’” he repeated.

“Yes. My superiors felt it was inappropriate for angels to assist Azazel’s son or Lucifer’s Vessel. They have loosened their stance somewhat and are willing to allow contact.” He seemed very pleased with himself. 

“Gee. Thanks.” 

“You are welcome.” He probably honestly didn’t see anything hurtful about his words. After all, it wasn’t like Sam didn’t know what he was. “I am glad that you understand. I was afraid that you might be bitter.” 

“Now why would I be bitter?” 

Dean was coming back with their beers. “Geez, Sammy, these college bars of your and their crap microbrews. I don’t need a lecture about the bouquet, for crying out loud. I want a beer, not pairing advice.” He set a beer down before the angel, sparing Sam the difficulty of speaking again. “Not even a pool table in here to scam up some money – or have you forgotten how to play in all this time?”

“Sam has not forgotten how to play pool,” Cas informed him. “He continues to hustle in his spare time, but he does not do so near campus or near his home.” 

“Thanks for that,” Sam muttered, looking away. 

“You seem displeased. You are not proud? You have earned a decent amount of cash for yourself over the years.”

“That’s my boy!” Dean grinned widely. “Maybe later we can go out and show the world what the Winchester brothers are really made of, huh?” 

Sam offered a tight smile but made no promises. It was as he thought – he might have escaped Hell but the respite was only temporary and had never been intended. Something like him could never hope for salvation. 

Apparently no one expected him to keep up much of a conversation. He kept half an ear tuned as Dean bragged about an adventure involving a hot if somewhat “overly” religious co-ed in Iowa and a guy with a hook for a hand. It had probably been a very exciting case, if not quite as exciting as Dean was making it out to be. He tried not to think about what he had been doing while Dean was flirting with Ms. Urban Legend 2005. Blood had certainly been involved, no doubt about that. 

Eventually they’d managed to slaughter enough minutes that they were able to head out to the rendezvous – a restaurant where someone had talked Andy into reserving a back table for them. He wasn’t worried about someone stalking them there, not Gordon Walker and not Bela Talbot. It wasn’t someplace they’d used before. Jess was the first person he saw at the restaurant and he walked away from both Dean and Castiel while the latter was in mid-sentence to take his wife in his arms. “Um,” Dean said after clearing his throat several times. “Is this really the place for that?”

Sam didn’t care. He’d been forced to sit there in motel rooms while Dean brought back all manner of people, forbidden escape by their father’s iron rule about Sam and exposure to sunlight or something and Dean could suffer through watching Sam kiss the wife who had fought so hard for him. “They’re like that a lot,” he heard Jo tell him. “Try living with them.” Jo was here? 

He turned around. “Jo?”

“Scott told me this was an all hands on deck thing,” she shrugged. “My hands are on deck. Although not for that. Sorry.”

Jess laughed. “It’s all right, Jo. We’ll be just fine on our lonesome.” She brought Sam back in for another kiss. “You’re upset,” she whispered into his ear when she was done. 

“Long day.”

“Want me to kick his ass for you, baby?” she offered, eyes twinkling. 

“Not his fault. Not really. Let’s just… get through this, can we?” 

He tried to give her a reassuring look that she didn’t even fall for a little bit and they sat down.

Ava presented her findings. Today had been a slow day at the firm where she worked so she’d had a chance to do some poking around online. “I guess that the church is built on the site of an earlier church,” she pointed out, passing out summaries of her finding with actual bullet points like this was a proper board meeting or something. “The original foundation, along with the original crypt, were incorporated into the new building design. This was important to Father William O’Hara, the priest who supervised construction of the new building when it was erected. We have parts of his journal online thanks to a ‘historical accessibility project’ sponsored by some winemaker over at the Petaluma Historical Society.” She made a bright face. “The parts that talk about why it was so important to him to keep the church in that particular location when most of the town’s Catholics were moving farther away from the town center, and when the church could have sold the land for a hefty amount, were not digitized.” 

“That particular parcel of land is exceptionally stable,” Castiel offered. “I did not know Father O’Hara but I can assure you that the church, the vault and its contents would have been completely unaffected by any seismic event found in nature.” 

“It was to protect the vault,” Sam translated. Not that he thought that anyone there wouldn’t have figured it out, but just in case. “The vault and the wards inside – he wouldn’t have wanted the wards to be marred in any way.”

“You’re assuming that he even knew that the wards were there,” Jess frowned. “How can you be sure?”

Sam bit his lip. “I suppose I can’t. But if he was willing to forgo the money from selling the land and leave the structure in a place where it inconvenienced parishioners, I think it’s a safe bet that he knew there was something down there that couldn’t be disturbed in the slightest.”

“What wards?” Dean scowled.

“Anti-demon wards?” “And angel,” Sam pointed out immediately. “Demon and angel wards. Covering every inch of the walls in there. Vision,” he answered Dean’s unspoken question. “I didn’t get to see what was inside, except the dead monk who did them.”

“What, are you telepathic now?” Andy wanted to know. He didn’t sound jealous. Andy was never jealous. 

“Dude, no. You grow up in someone else’s pocket like that you pretty much know the score,” Dean shook his head. “Visions, man. Okay. Any idea why the good father came to Petaluma in the first place?”

“It seems as though he was sent for by the archdiocese. He came recommended by an organization called the Men of Letters, whoever they were.” Ava gave a quick smile. “I didn’t get to find much more about them, the Peterson case kind of exploded right after I found out their names. But it’s something to go on, right?” 

It was something to go on. Even Castiel had little to offer about the Men of Letters, although he admitted that his “milieu” tended to be battle rather than actual human interaction. (“Shocking,” Jess whispered to Sam, sending him into a paroxysm of laughter that almost made him choke on his salad.) It gave people a good enough place to start looking. They parted ways for the night, Sam and Castiel escorting Dean to Luis’ place. Sam wasn’t sure why the angel wanted to come along; perhaps to make sure that his charge’s monster sibling didn’t eat him en route or something. Luis and Dean would be well suited to each other, he decided as they left. This probably meant that he was in for a fresh round of humiliating Look At Little Sammy stories, but whatever. At least Dean was around. He wanted that, right? 

He’d received a pretty strong challenge to his psyche with Castiel’s revelation, but Jess managed to soothe it away without ever even knowing what had caused it in the first place. They went to bed early wrapped up in each other, Sam feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. He loved to sleep with his wife in his arms, himself in hers; his nose buried in her hair, her legs tangled up around his. On the rare occasions when he could sleep soundly enough to avoid waking her, he thrived on the feeling that he could hold tightly enough to her to keep himself in the real world, keep her alive and safe. That she could keep the evils of the world at bay.

Of course, tonight would be the night the past decided to call, since Dean showing up hunting them and angels coming into the mix wasn’t enough to complicate law school and communal life. As he enjoyed a rare night free from nightmares he felt two familiar consciousnesses brush against his mind. He smelled the sulfur, felt the oil-slick smoke as it brushed up against him. “Meg,” he identified. “Ruby.” 

He recognized the touch for what it was: an attempt at contact, not anyone trying to ride him or hijack his body. Not that a demon could, not anymore. He allowed the connection, seeing the true form of the two demons he hated the least appear in his dreamscape. Meg smirked at him. It was a strange-looking gesture on a demon’s true face, more like a grimace than anything else, but he’d had plenty of time to get used to the peculiarities of a demon’s true form. “Howdy, little brother. How’s tricks upstairs?” 

“Tricky,” he retorted flatly. He wasn’t a big fan of the nickname. “What’s going on, Meg? I’d figure I’d be the last person you’d want to see.”

“What, you mean just because you’re the one that killed Daddy Dearest and plunged Hell into a dark age? Now why would I be holding a grudge about that?” She shook her head and laughed. “Seriously, Sam, get a grip.” 

“We both knew what you were planning, Sam,” Ruby reminded him. “So did He. He sends His regards, by the way.” 

Sam managed not to show his full-body shiver, but only because he had a lot more control here in the dream than he did in the waking world. “Still, we weren’t exactly friendly,” he observed. “I mean, I’m glad you’ve survived Lilith’s rise to power – although I have to admit I’m kind of surprised by that.” 

“Oh, she’s still afraid of you, Sam. Afraid of you. Afraid of Him. She won’t come near the Cage, so those of us who can stand to be near the Cage don’t get bothered too often. And it’s not like I don’t have resources of my own,” Meg pointed out. “I hear that an angel’s batting for you now.”

Sam laughed out loud. “Right. No. He’s not here for me. He’s here for Dean. My brother. Both of them would be perfectly content for me to head right back down to your loving arms.”

“So bitter, Sammy,” Ruby gasped with a delighted little grin. “Anyway, let’s get to the point. A young woman escaped from a locked ward a couple of days ago not too far from your location, and Lilith wants her. Bad.” 

Sam remembered Lilith, and remembered her tastes. If the subject could be described as a young woman instead of a young girl, this was definitely outside of Lilith’s usual behavior patterns. “Seems outside of Lilith’s usual range,” he pointed out. “What’s this got to do with me?”

“If Lilith’s been hell-bent for whatever’s under that stupid church and suddenly she’s all over that poor sweet innocent flower like flies on a corpse, do you think they might be connected, turtle brain?” Meg demanded, stomping a foot.

He sighed. “What’s so special about this woman?” They were right, he knew that they were right, but he needed to know. 

“How should we know? But we’ll find out.” Both demons smiled wickedly. 

“What’s this ‘we?’” he demanded quickly. 

“Oh, did we forget to mention we’ll be helping?” Meg asked sweetly. “Whatever is under that church is old, very old. And powerful. We can’t risk it falling into Lilith’s hands. So we’re helping.” 

“All right – it’s not like I can stop you from coming through the gate,” he sighed. “Just… try to take empty vessels if you can, okay? Coma patients or something.” 

They both smirked. “Aw, isn’t that sweet?” Ruby simpered. “We’ll do what we can, sugar lips. See you tomorrow after class.” 

Sam groaned. “Sam, honey?” Jess murmured into his ear. “You okay?”

* 

Castiel surveyed the apartment where his charge would be staying. It seemed adequate – certainly a step up from where he’d been staying. The angel felt no need to interfere in terms of pest removal or structural integrity, and the young medical student whose apartment it was seemed enthusiastic about having “Winchester’s brother” stay with him for a while. Castiel did add some demon warding to the premises, unbeknownst to anyone within, but that could only be to the benefit of anyone inside. It wasn’t as though demons were capable of being hospitable neighbors after all. 

After this he left to check on the Abom – on Sam Winchester’s home, he corrected himself. He could not, in good conscience, think of the man as an abomination anymore. He knew that his superiors did not see things in the same light; he would have to keep his sentiments to himself. The first word that sprang to mind when Castiel thought of him was “protective.” He was protective of his family, the family he’d gathered around him thanks to their shared blood. He was protective of his brother too, thrusting him behind his back when he’d seen what Castiel was. And he’d jumped right into the fray against the demons. If Zachariah could not see that Sam was a good man in spite of his blood then Cas simply wouldn’t discuss the man with him. It wasn’t as though it was up to Zachariah which souls were destined for Heaven and which for Hell.

After he saw Dean safely ensconced in his new quarters he found himself pulled back to Heaven by Zachariah’s call. He could, had he been in the middle of something, have ignored it. He had no reason to justify ignoring orders, no impetus for disobedience so to Heaven he went. “Report, Castiel,” the senior angel demanded. “

The brothers are beginning to lose their wariness of each other,” he informed. “They are making common cause with regards to an artifact that Lilith wants very much, but their reunion may only be superficial. I am not expert in the ways of human familial relationships. I believe that they fear each other as much as they care for each other.” 

Zachariah tilted his head to the side. “Interesting. Do they observe a hierarchy, as angels do?” 

Castiel considered. “Perhaps. I think… I think that perhaps Dean believes that they observe a hierarchy. I do not think that Sam believes that they observe a hierarchy. This is perhaps at the heart of some of their difficulties as younger men. And of course Dean would see Sam escaping the hierarchy as a betrayal while Sam sees…” He sensed his superior’s disinterest in the subject of Sam’s views. “At any rate, I believe that healing their relationship will be the work of many years.” 

“But they are working together now, correct?” 

“For the moment. The alliance is fragile.” 

“What of the artifact? Do they know what it is yet?” 

Castiel frowned. “No. They do not. It is sealed into a vault and neither angels nor demons can gain access. But I do know that an organization called the Men of Letters was instrumental in putting it there. Do you know anything about them, sir?” 

Zachariah had not shown an exceptional interest in the artifact prior to this point. Why would he suddenly be interested now? The older seraph grimaced. “I know that they were wiped out something like fifty years ago – that’s a significant amount of time to the mud crawlers. It’s not much for us, but for them it’s – well, anyway. You’re a soldier; you don’t care about such things. I believe that it was a demon that eradicated them, but they were doing us a favor.” 

Angels did not gesticulate. They did not flinch in the face of wildly inappropriate statements from their superiors. If they did, Castiel would have probably taken several steps back. “How so, sir?” 

“I never interacted with them personally – no angel did. Not authorized, anyway, and I can’t imagine that anyone would have done so without permission. They were… they were dabblers in forbidden knowledge, Castiel. They tried to dress it up as knowledge that was beneficial, like how to destroy demons, but in reality they were dangerously close to trying to be angels themselves. They experimented with a type of magic that relied on the human soul as fuel – magic that sometimes mimicked angelic powers. And they were guided neither by heaven nor Hell, but by their own judgment and will. They did as they pleased with no concern for God’s plans.” 

Castiel shuddered. “Perhaps they had a prophet?” “They did not. They studied the writings of the prophets but they did not adhere to them, and the made extensive use of other traditions. They studied forbidden ways. They had no interest in destiny, no interest in fate. In fact, I believe that they were looking for a way to erase Fate’s book when they were destroyed.” 

“If men had no more destiny, no more fate, what would guide them?” Cas wondered aloud.

“Exactly!” his supervisor beamed. “There would be absolutely nothing. Nothing to rule them, no plan to go by. I guess that even a demon can do God’s will once in a while, right? Anyway, do you have any idea what that artifact might be?”

“No, sir. But Sam Winchester’s family of abominations are working to find out.” 

Zachariah drew back with a hiss of disgust. “Family of abominations? More of them survived?” 

“These survivors were merely dosed as infants. They were not taken into Hell as he was. They are less risky.” 

“Azazel’s brood are still abominations, Castiel. You’re not… you’re not fraternizing, are you?” He leaned in closer. “I know that evil can sometimes appear… very beautiful…” 

He squirmed. “I am not being tempted by matters of the flesh if that is what you are implying. The Righteous Man believes that I am a sandwich and Sam Winchester is a faithfully married man. Both are aesthetically pleasing in their own right, however.” 

Zachariah’s revulsion was well founded. An angel could get into a great deal of trouble for entering into sexual relations with his human charge. “Excellent. Glad to hear it. Keep an eye on that artifact, and try to keep those two chuckleheads together. They’re the only possible way to fight Lilith, Castiel. We need them together, even if they’d rather not be.”

He recognized a dismissal when he heard one, so he returned to Earth and spent some time in one of the state parks until he could be reasonably expected to look in on one of the Winchesters. There was a beautiful park not terribly far from Palo Alto with some very remote trails; Castiel could easily entertain himself there for several hours if need be. Humanity interested him, but it also exhausted him in a way that fighting the legions of Hell or watching invisible and uninvolved did not. Out here, under the stars and breathing the cool air, he could recharge his energy and his Grace. He lost track of time out there in the scrubland, only coming to himself when Dean’s whiskey-rough voice came to his ears in tones audible only to him. 

“Glory be to the Castiel, the trenchcoat and the backwards tie. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be until those nasty-ass clothes just crust up and walk away on their own, world without end, would you mind stopping by here for a moment? Thanks.”

He paused for a moment to roll his eyes at Dean’s casual blasphemy of an old Catholic prayer before teleporting to his charge’s location. 

“Simply composing your mind and calling out to me will suffice, Dean,” he informed, appearing before the brothers. They were in what appeared to be a deserted locker room on campus. Sam held a white bag with a silver apple on it; he offered it out to Castiel with a tense smile. “What is this?” the angel wondered, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s an iPhone,” Dean sighed as Castiel accepted the apple bag. “It’s for making phone calls.” 

“Why would an angel want to make phone calls?” he demanded suspiciously.

“Because sometimes there are places that are awkward for teleporting into. You don’t want to just teleport into a crowded bar, man. It makes people jumpy, suspicious. If you just want to ask a question, you can call or text.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, man, it was Sammy’s idea, okay? I’m just here for the beer.” 

“It’s barely noon, Dean.” Sam glared at him. “And it’s Sam.”

“Since when do you care what time it is for beer, Sammy? It’s the breakfast of champions!” Dean grinned hugely as his brother rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Anyway,” Sam declared with perhaps more heaviness than intended. “The whole point is that with the phone you won’t have to worry about answering the prayers of anyone you’re not supposed to be listening to. We can call you. You can call us. No one gets their hands dirty.”

“Does an iPhone have cleansing properties?” Castiel inquired, examining the packaging. 

“No! No, dude,” Dean sighed, taking the box away from him. “Sam, did he say something to you?” 

“No. Of course not. We just cleared up a few misunderstandings yesterday.” Sam gave a thin smile. “Anyway, you and Dean are going to work on getting that bad boy all set up. I’ve got a study group thing to get to, okay?” He turned around and walked away, moving quickly for all that he had a loping gait. 

The angel and the Righteous Man watched him go. “All right, what exactly did you say to him?” Dean demanded as soon as Sam was out of earshot. 

“Nothing,” Castiel replied, turning to look at his charge. “You were standing right here, Dean.” “No, yesterday. He was doing so well – laughing and joking and everything – and then I left the two of you alone for five seconds to get a beer and then he’s right back to being Cranky Smurf.” 

Castiel tried to follow Dean’s words. “He is part demon. Not a smurf.” He paused. “What is a smurf? I am not familiar with that type of creature.” 

The blond let out a little half-growl, grabbed Castiel’s arm and began leading him toward the exit. Castiel allowed himself to be so guided; clearly something was bothering his charge and asserting his dominance would do no one any favors. “So what did you say to him?” 

“I told him that I could hear his prayers, even when he was in Hell. I thought it would bring him some comfort.” He paused. “You are telling me that it did not.” 

Dean made a face. “Yes, I am telling you that it did not. Geez, Cas. What are you thinking? You tell the guy you sat and listened to him suffer and did nothing?” He strode through the hallway. 

“It was not permitted.” 

“Lots of things aren’t permitted, Cas! We’re not technically permitted to be here right now!” He banged his hand into the wall. 

“You made no effort to rescue him either.” His words sounded hollow even as he spoke them, and he wished that he could take them back. 

“No. You’re right. I didn’t. He’s my brother, and I didn’t try to get him back. All I can do is… I don’t know. I don’t think I can ever… come back from that, you know?” Dean’s voice had gotten quiet for a moment, green eyes focused to the right and down. He brought them up again, meeting Castiel’s squarely. “But you know what? I sure as hell didn’t sit there and listen to him asking me to help him. Over and over. So screw you.”

“Dean. Dean!” He rushed to catch up with the taller man. “You don’t understand. My orders were to leave him there. I am an angel. I cannot disobey!”

“But it was Sammy, man! The kid was good. He was good, Cas! I mean, yeah he walked out on us but –“ 

“He was never really welcome among you anyway, Dean. Your father’s feelings toward him were… troubled.” He saw the way that Dean’s face clouded over and raised a hand. “I observed your entire family before your parents even met. Believe me. Your father’s feelings were conflicted about your brother before he even suspected about Azazel’s interference in his life.”

Dean glowered. “Anyway. Sammy was good. He didn’t deserve Hell.”

“He chose it freely. He walked into Hell to save Jessica.”

“Doesn’t mean he deserved whatever happened to him down there.”

“No. And he is out now. Thanks to his own efforts. Your brother is intelligent. He is resourceful. And he is cunning.” He smiled. “You should be proud of him.” 

Dean grunted. “Doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to go around making the kid feel bad.” “I will endeavor to consider my words more carefully in the future.” He nodded.

They went back to Luis’ apartment, where they set up Castiel’s phone. Apparently this involved the downloading of “apps,” which were ways to “kill time,” and creating a “phone book.” “These are the phone numbers you’ll need,” Dean explained. “That one’s mine, that one’s the one that Sammy uses, that one’s Jess’.” He demonstrated how to add a contact, not that Castiel saw much cause to add another name to his list. He had no reason to contact more humans. 

Once that incredibly mundane task had been completed Castiel suggested that they visit the church in Petaluma to check on the artifact. Sam’s vision had suggested that the demons would not hesitate to make use of human couriers to get what they wanted, so it behooved them to monitor the situation on a semi-regular basis at least. He wondered if this was something that they could designate a younger angel to handle, perhaps Samandriel. He was an excellent watcher. He made a note to suggest this to Zachariah the next time they spoke. 

The pair examined the perimeter of the house of worship first. They found sulfur near the entrance but this was not troubling in and of itself. They knew that demons wanted whatever was inside; logic dictated that they would make attempts on the item’s housing. The main room of the facility was empty – a few candles flickered near a side altar but no parishioners lingered to distract anyone at the moment. “You want to take the attic, I’ll take the basement?” Dean suggested. 

This seemed reasonable and efficient to Castiel. After all, they were merely checking on the facility, not looking for a fight. There was no indication that anyone was present; all they wanted was to check and make sure that no one had done anything to disturb the artifact. Castiel flew into the upper reaches of the church, flying from room to room in seconds. He found nothing; he expected to find nothing. Well, he didn’t find nothing. He found a small colony of bats that was beginning to suffer from the fungal infection plaguing bat colonies all over the world. Knowing that an angel’s duty was to care for all of his Father’s creatures he reached out with his Grace and healed the small mammals before flying to the next chamber.

He’d intended to meet Dean in the sanctuary, but his companion seemed to take an awfully long time in returning. They hadn’t made a definite plan to regroup here; he’d made an assumption. Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Human minds did not function as angel minds did; even in his short time with them he’d learned that logic was not as much of a factor as it ought to have been. Perhaps he ought to seek Dean out. He extended his consciousness – Dean must be in the church somewhere; he could not have gone far in the short amount of time that he’d been among the bats.

He did not find Dean’s consciousness. He did, however, find a familiar mind in the basement. The imprint of the soul-sick man was unmistakable. He teleported into the space where Gordon Walker lurked, expecting the man to jump or at least flinch when someone appeared from out of nowhere. The only reaction he got was a smirk. Dean, the Righteous Man, Castiel’s charge, lay on the ground insensate. “You one of the half-breeds?” Walker demanded casually. “Azazel’s brood?” 

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel informed him, allowing some of his Grace to shine through. “This man is my charge. Why have you harmed him?”

“I haven’t hurt him. I just wanted him to take a nice little nap. He works too hard sometimes. It interferes with his judgment.” His lip curled again. 

“Your soul is sick, Gordon Walker. You need help.” 

“The only help I need is sending bastards like you back to Hell where you belong. You and all the sorry sons of bitches like you. Don’t move. I’ve got a gun on Dean-o here and I’m not afraid to use it. I’m not sure why monsters like you have a soft spot for a Winchester but hey – I’m more than happy to use it against you, you know?” 

Castiel frowned. “As I said, I am an angel of the Lord. I have never been past the gates of Hell.” He allowed the shadow of his wings to show on the wall, even though it made all of the light bulbs in the basement coffee room explode. “Release Dean to me.” 

“You are not driving the bus, here, Mephisto!” Gordon insisted. He didn’t shout. He almost laughed. 

Castiel hadn’t wanted to do this, but he found that the soul-sick man left him little choice. He flew behind the captor and touched two fingers to his temple, knocking him out instantly. He then gathered both humans into his arms. It was no more difficult to fly with two humans than it was with one, even to Florida. Dropping Gordon into a police station and informing the person on duty that he had an inappropriate quantity of an unknown sedative on his person before disappearing was probably an unsubtle way of getting rid of the pest but he hoped that it would solve the problem, at least for a while; he returned to Palo Alto and called Sam. 

Sam answered after three rings. “Castiel?” he asked immediately. The angel could hear the sound of someone – someone female – crying softly in the background. “What’s up?” 

“High C.” 

The Winchester paused. “Oh. I get it. Angel humor.” He gave a tired-sounding huff. “What’s happening right now that requires attention?” 

He cleared his throat. “Dean has been drugged. I need to bring him to you.” 

“What?” The fatigue was gone from his voice. “Um… this isn’t the best time but… uh… okay. They’ll have to get over it. We can always find another place…” He rattled off an address. 

Sam was outside the older home when he landed along with two of the other products of Azazel’s experiments. One of them, a handsome dark-skinned man, reached out to take Dean from him. He’d seen this one before, on the other occasions they’d met with Sam. “I can take him,” he said. 

“I would rather handle him,” Cas insisted. “He is my charge.” 

The two strangers shrugged. Sam’s jaw twitched but he gestured and Cas followed him into the home. The home had several bedrooms on several levels. Castiel followed his host up to the third floor. “We’re running kind of full right now,” Sam explained. “We’ve got a couple spares but with a couple more houseguests than we expected it’s kind of tight. This is the last room we have left.” The room was small but clean, with a porthole window. “Bathroom’s on the end of the hall. No poking into other rooms.” He sat down by the side of the bed. “You’re… you’re quite bloody,” Cas observed after a moment. “Are you injured?” 

“Yes,” the dark-skinned abomination replied even as Sam replied “No.”

“He only got stabbed,” the other man rolled his eyes. “And he won’t let me deal with it before Jess gets home, and she’s going to lose her mind.” 

“Other things are more important right now, Jake,” Sam murmured. “How did Dean get drugged?” 

“Gordon Walker ambushed him at the church in Petaluma,” Cas admitted. “I do not know what he gave him, but he said he needed him asleep for a while. May I see your wound?” 

Sam cringed, but Jake gave him a light slap upside the head. “Dude. Save us all the headache of Jess’ tantrum if she sees you’re hurt.” 

Cas reached out and exposed Sam’s arm, revealing one stab wound and several bruises. He felt his Grace reach out to heal the injury, but he could sense that Sam’s blood was already reacting. The boy – however old he might be, Castiel couldn’t help but view him as a boy sometimes – flinched at the surge of Grace. “That will require stitches, and I would recommend a change of clothing,” he suggested. “Your wife will be distressed if she realizes that the blood is yours.” 

Sam gave a sheepish little smile. “Yeah. He’ll be out for a little while, right?” 

“Certainly.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, clean up and then sit with him for a bit, right?” 

Cas beamed. Perhaps the brothers would reunite for real after all. “I will retrieve his things. He stepped out into the hallway. 

As he prepared to take flight he thought he caught the brush of a familiar mind, one he hadn’t felt in decades. But Anael – she was gone, she’d died. Hadn’t she?


	5. Just Filling In The Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up. Sam bleeds a lot. Cas chooses a tattoo artist.

Waking up someplace other than where you closed your eyes was sometimes part of a hunter’s job. It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t something you signed up looking to do but it happened and it was something he’d trained for. He knew to keep his breathing patterns even, to keep the semblance of sleep even as he assessed his situation. All he’d felt before the lights went out had been a pinprick, jabbed in a not-so-gentle fashion into his side. Now he found himself in a bed – a narrow bed, but a comfortable bed with sheets that felt clean even if they maybe weren’t the highest thread count. He hadn’t been secured to the bed, which was his captor’s first mistake. He was still fully clothed and didn’t have any kind of feeling that he’d been unclothed at any point, no lingering sensation that someone had taken advantage of his situation. That was probably a good sign – things were better than they might have been, anyway. Someone was in the room with him. Well, the first step to any escape was to take out the guard, right? 

He came up swinging, or tried to. Vertigo overcame him and he fell over, trying to right himself. The figure pulled himself to his feet, steadying Dean as he rose. “I got you,” Sam’s voice informed him, large hands holding him still until the world stopped spinning. 

“Sammy?” Dean croaked. 

“Cas rescued you and brought you here, man. You’ve been out for about five hours.” He gently guided Dean to a seated position. “You’re at my house. Settle, man. Whatever he dosed you with is still in your system.”

“He?” Dean blinked. His mouth tasted like cotton. 

“Gordon Freakin Walker.” Dean made his eyes focus on his brother’s face. “I’ve got some water here if you think you’re ready for it.” 

Part of Dean wanted to reject it – he’d just been drugged from one guy he’d trusted implicitly, he didn’t need to be taking things from people he wasn’t sure he trusted, thank you. At the same time he could see that the bottle was unopened and sealed. And damn but he was thirsty. He took the bottle and opened it, taking small sips as he knew was necessary. “Yeah. Thanks.” He frowned. “Your house?” 

“Well, you were drugged, dude. I figured you wouldn’t want to go to a hospital and Luis was in class, and I couldn’t really leave some stuff here, so…” He looked away. “I’m kind of going out on a limb here, man. You’re not going to, like, murder anyone in their sleep. Right?”

“Right now I don’t think I could murder a mosquito, Sammy. But no. You said it was Gordon who drugged me?” He knew the guy was ruthless, would do whatever it took to get the job done, but this – well, this was more than a little bit beyond anything he’d expected. He’d hunted with Gordon. He’d trusted Gordon. 

He shrugged. “That’s what your angel told me.” 

Dean rolled his eyes at the possessive. “Okay. Sure. I’m not going to be doing his dirty work for him, okay? I’m not… I mean, I’m not hunting you. I told you that before.” 

“I know. It’s just… folks are scared. With good reason.” He sighed. “All right. I guess if you’re feeling up to it you’ll want to see the place, meet the others?” 

“Yeah – yeah.” Dean didn’t like this. He knew that made him a bad person. He should be happy to see Sam’s house, to see the life he’d built for himself after clawing himself out of Hell, but it went against everything in him to find any comfort in it. There was the fact that this place existed at all, in direct contravention of the life their father wanted for them. There was the fact that it barely even counted as a home at all – it was a monster lair, full of freaks. There was the fact that Sam was clearly uncomfortable with having him there, didn’t want him in his home (in his life) but he was going to try. He was going to grin and bear it, fake it until he made it because somewhere in his little brother’s expression he could still see Sammy. He could still see the little boy who wanted his brother to come see him in the lead role in Our Town. He could still see the brother who wanted him at his soccer games. He could still see the brother that wanted him to come with him to Stanford. “Let’s do this.” 

“It’s okay to move slow, Dean. There’s no rush.” Sam offered a hand and guided Dean out of the small room. “Sorry about the size of the room – we’ve got some extra space normally, but with Pastor Jim and Bobby already promised their rooms and with another guest here and everything the space is getting a little cramped. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. Not exactly the Ritz, but.” He shrugged. 

“It’s a nice place so far, Sammy.” He looked around. The stairs seemed steep. “How many people you got living here?”

“Seven permanent residents. You saw yesterday that Jo spends a bit of time here.” He bit his lip.

“The boyfriend,” Dean realized aloud. “Damn it. Does her mother know?”

“Ellen? Oh yeah. She’s even been by to visit a time or two. None of us are big fans of hanging around the Roadhouse.” His cheeks pinked up a bit. 

“So she knew you were back too.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Wow. Just… wow. I’m literally the only person who didn’t know my baby brother was alive. You’re one selfish son of a bitch, you know that?” He shook his head. He knew he shouldn’t pick this fight, knew it was wrong. They’d had it out about this already and neither side had convinced the other. Still, his temper didn’t seem to have been affected by Gordon’s cocktail-o-chemicals even if his brain-to-mouth filter clearly had and there wasn’t any taking the words back once they were out there. 

“Yeah, Dean? What would you have done differently?” Sam turned around, looming suddenly and crowding him against the wall. “Would you have rushed to my side, maybe held my hand? Tried to get me through those first months when I wasn’t even sure what was real and what was a flashback? Or, when Dad told you that I was a monster to be put down would you have taken the Colt and put it against my head and pulled the goddamn trigger?”

“Sammy, it’s complicated –“ 

“No. It isn’t. Feel free to look around. If someone’s door is closed, that’s a subtle fucking hint.” Sam stalked off. A door closed behind him as he disappeared from sight. 

“Damn it!” Dean hissed, holding the wall to keep himself upright. His brother didn’t come back. Well, that wasn’t a surprise. He’d lost control again, lost his temper, lashed out. He knew it. He’d pushed Sam away. Whatever it was that the angels wanted from them had probably just been completely wrecked thanks to him.

He kept exploring, although every door on this floor seemed to be closed. Walking down the stairs (slowly, ever so slowly, lest he return the water his brother had given him) brought him to the main living areas. He’d been in other college-age, and post-college-age, people’s homes before. Cassie was a notable example. Maybe it was the fact that these freaks – these people, he reminded himself – were all a little older, but Casa De Azazel-spawn seemed to lack the empty pizza and stale beer vibe of most such establishments. There were probably thousands of books but they were neatly on shelves. They had a nice TV. The kitchen wasn’t huge – how it managed to feed seven adults or more completely escaped Dean – but it looked clean and well loved. They had a little backyard, with tall bushes to ensure privacy. 

Castiel stood in the living room. “Hello, Dean.” He stood with a slender blonde woman. “Dean, this is Lily. Lily, this is Sam’s brother Dean.” When Dean reached out to shake her hand she withdrew behind Cas. “It’s okay, Lily. Dean, Lily cannot touch you. It would stop your heart.”

“Oh, well. That’s probably a bit of a downer on your social life.” He grinned to show it was a joke and put his hands in his pockets.

She looked like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh or not. “Just, uh, let me go find my gloves.” She glided out of the room more than she really walked out, elegant and graceful. 

Dean looked at Cas, who looked at Dean. “Where is your brother?” the latter inquired, tilting his head to one side like some kind of very twisted carrier pigeon.

“Having a sulk somewhere.” Cas fixed him with that laser-piercing squint of his – seriously, how did a guy manage to squint like that and still manage to come off like he was shooting beams through your lungs, it had to be an angel thing – and Dean sat down on the couch. “He keeps getting all pissy every time I point out that he never told me he was alive.” 

The angel considered briefly. “His mind is closed to me, but I would venture to guess that it is because you blame him for this but accept no responsibility or guilt for having abandoned him to his fate in the first place. You hold him to a different standard than you hold yourself, but this has always been the case in your family.” 

He turned to a book he’d pulled off a shelf. “What? No! Dad might have been tough but he was fair. He never asked anything of us that he didn’t do himself –“ 

“That is not accurate. But that is immaterial – you will not be convinced of your father’s deficiencies and he is deceased so he cannot rectify them.” He shrugged. “You cannot go back in time and unmake your choices.” 

“So what am I supposed to do?” Dean exploded. “It’s Sam. I’ve never had to hide anything from Sam. Complete honesty – you can’t hold anything back from your partner. Not telling him something is the same as lying to him, you know? You can’t have that with the guy you’re depending on to have your back. He needs to know if there’s something bothering me, and vice versa.” 

“I am an angel, Dean. We aren’t here to perch on your shoulder and be your moral compass. Read the Bible. We are fierce warriors of God, one wing always dipped in blood. My duty is to reunite you with your brother to fulfill Heaven’s task for you, not to play relationship counselor. I am afraid that I would fulfill such a function very poorly. If you want to know what to do about or with your brother, or how to talk to him, ask him. Ask the people around him – his wife, his companions. Not the angel who apparently cannot even discern when his words hurt him.” 

“Touchy,” Dean glowered, pushing himself back up to his feet. The room seemed more stable with each passing minute. “Any idea where Jess is?” 

“Right here, brain trust.” Her voice lacked anything resembling warmth. “Fortunately or unfortunately there isn’t time to play Dr. Phil for you. There’s a situation over by the Vons Market; seems demonic. Geez, you’d think we could catch a break?”

All over the house there were sounds of people moving, getting ready for something. No one knew what, but it was something. “Rest is not to be expected in times such as these,” Cas intoned. He might have sounded a little wistful as he sat his book back on the coffee table. 

The book picked itself up and returned to its place on the shelf. Sam strode in, shoulders back and head high. “Let’s get going,” he urged, not even looking at Dean. Well, what did Dean really expect? Hugs and kisses? Holding hands? Geez, next thing he’d be watching Oprah. “Dean, you can stay here but –“

“I’m coming, Sam,” he objected.

“Dean, no. You’re still processing the whatever-it-is that sack of crap shot you full of.” Sam did turn to look at him this time. “You’re not going into a demon fight doped up like a rock star. You know better.” 

Both Dean and Jess snorted and then exchanged glances. It was probably the friendliest interaction they’d had. “Look, I’m fine to sit in the rear and shoot,” Dean wheedled. “Come on, man. You can’t really expect me to sit out a fight against demons. You just can’t. Not after everything. Not if you’re going.”

Other people filed into the room. Dean had seen all of them before, not that he’d been introduced. Finally Sam’s hazel eyes rolled. “Fine,” he grunted. “But you’re not driving.” 

“You can drive the Impala if you want, just don’t make me stay back, okay?” Dean met his brother’s eyes. He felt ridiculous, begging like a child to not be left behind, but if that was what he had to do then he would do it. “C’mon, man. It’ll be just like old times, only getting a mickey instead of a concussion.” 

One of the guys, the one standing near Jo, shook his head. “Your family’s weird, Sam.” One corner of Sam’s mouth twitched upward but it was genuine. There were dimples and everything. “Yeah, tell me about it. All right, Jake, you mind staying here with Ava and Jo for the night? In case of guests?” 

A guy Dean had seen a few times, the one who had sat between Dean and Gordon at the coffee shop, grinned slowly. “Sure thing, Sam. I’ve got this. You go.”

In the end Jess and Castiel rode with Sam and Dean in the Impala while the rest of the freaks – people Sam lived with, Dean corrected himself – rode in some kind of weirdo station wagon looking thing that Dean immediately dubbed the Freakmobile. They probably didn’t even have a radio in that thing, he smirked to himself as Sam flinched when the radio blasted at full volume upon ignition. Maybe Black Sabbath wasn’t the right choice, he chuckled. “Hey, how did my Baby get here anyway?” 

“I brought her after you were successfully put to bed,” the angel intoned from the back seat. S

am turned the radio off, massive hands lovingly caressing the dash as he returned them to the wheel. “Bring back memories, Sammy?” Dean murmured. He was feeling better, really he was, but someone else in the driver’s seat always set off a little bit of motion sickness in him. 

“She’s the only home I knew for nineteen years, Dean.” The words should have sounded pissy but they didn’t. “Of course I’ve missed her. She’s looking good. You’ve taken real good care of her.” 

“Thanks, man.” Dean recognized an olive branch when he heard it, tentative though it was. “So what’s the deal? What’s going on?” 

“Not really sure. Ava and I both got hit with a vision at the same time – right after you and I spoke. That doesn’t usually happen.” He shifted. “Between us we counted at least six demons and if I’m right, one of them is a pretty big deal.” His hands squeezed the steering wheel, hard. Jess shifted in the back seat. 

Castiel pursed his lips. “You remember him from your time in Hell.” 

“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “His name is Alistair and he’s, uh. He’s in charge of the racks. So if I tell you to run – either of you – please don’t try to be a hero or anything. Just run, I promise I won’t be far behind you.” He forced a little grin.

The Vons Market in question wasn’t near the house, it was on the other side of Palo Alto, but apparently that didn’t matter. Sam knew enough twists and turns and back roads to get them there in half an hour. Dean wanted to complain, to object to some minute facet of Sam’s driving that would justify him never being allowed to touch his beloved car again, but in truth even he couldn’t find anything to complain about. Sam had probably driven better than Dean would have. They parked nearby, out of range of the security cameras, before grabbing whatever they needed from the trunk and heading out toward the loading dock. “I thought you said six,” Dean spat out when he saw the situation before them: nine “people,” all in a smirking, black-eyed semi-circle. The one in the middle was probably the leader. He shouldn’t have been much – just a middle-aged white guy with a beard and bland clothes, but the shark’s smile and the white eyes gave him away.

“Sam,” he greeted. “Sa-am. So good of you to join us. It’s been such a very long time since I’ve had the pleasure of your highness’ company. Never let it be said that I didn’t appreciate having a real live prince right there on my rack.” He gave a deep little chuckle that almost qualified as a giggle. “Let’s talk, shall we?” Where were the others, the three other freaks that had been trailing along? Were they in league with the demons? 

“It takes nine demons for you to run your mouth, Alistair?” Sam sneered. His hands twitched loosely by his side. His voice was strong and his face contemptuous, but Dean could see the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. “That’s new even for you.”

“You’re the one what brought an angel with you.” The demon shrugged. “And… big brother. Well this is a lovely surprise. It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Dean. This isn’t how we were supposed to make one another’s acquaintance but – well, the best laid plans and all. I wonder – if I were to set up shop in that lovely little meat-suit of yours, make it a home, I wonder how much fun you and I could –“ 

The demon’s words were cut off as Sam raised a hand, face a snarl of hate and rage. Alistair screamed as Sam’s eyes turned yellow. An unknown demon, wearing a blonde in a denim jacket, stabbed Sam in the side. She’d moved faster than anyone had expected or even really noticed, and Sam’s concentration was broken just enough for Alistair to smoke out of his host body, who collapsed to the ground in a heap. The smoke made its way toward Dean but Sam made another gesture and it veered away, disappearing and presumably moving toward Hell. 

Alistair might have been defeated but there were still eight demons looking for a fight and Sam had been stabbed. Dean rushed to his brother’s side, arriving at the same time as Jess. Castiel put a hand on the demon who had attacked Sam, smiting her instantly. Sam doubled over, clutching at his wound while a skinny little guy with messy hair stuck his head around a dumpster. Dean recognized him as one of Sam’s buddies. “Hey, black-eyes. Over here,” he called. 

Three of the demons looked up. For reasons that Dean couldn’t quite understand, they chased after the kid. Why would they do that? It was obviously a trap; it couldn’t be anything but a trap. They still went.

Lily came running by, drawing off the attention of two of the others and there the demons were again, getting trapped by stupid Bugs Bunny tactics. That left two more demons coming at Sam, who was busy bleeding out onto the nasty ground. One leered as it came toward the trio with another knife as the other pulled out a gun. “That’s the end of the Winchesters at least,” the one with the gun commented. “Lilith will be pleased.” He grunted as he doubled over in pain, dropping the gun. 

“Counting your chickens before they hatch, aren’t we, sweet cheeks?” smirked a short woman with broad cheeks and long, wavy, dark hair. The demon with the knife went down in a flare of orange and yellow flashing light and fell on top of Sam’s long legs. Another petite, dark-haired woman stood behind him, holding a nasty-looking engraved knife. “Aw, Sammy. Did baby brother get an itty-bitty boo-boo?” 

Sam, whose face had gotten very gray in the few seconds since his stabbing, glowered. “Oh shut up, Meg.”

* 

Sam felt Jess’ hands tighten on his arms. “That’s Meg?” she hissed into his ear. 

“What’s a Meg?” Dean wanted to know.

“Aw, this must be Dean,” the other girl commented. In the background Sam could hear the cries of other demons as they were forcibly expelled from their hosts during exorcism. At least Andy and Lily and Scott weren’t being distracted by the reunion, he thought sourly. “You didn’t tell us how pretty he was, Sammy.” 

“Only I get to call him Sammy,” Dean scowled, and Sam couldn’t help but smile even though he was getting lightheaded. 

“The last thing I needed was you taking an unholy interest in Dean, Ruby,” he admitted, leaning against his wife. His wonderful wife, with her very strongly beating heart. Jess – well, Jess knew everything. He wasn’t worried about Ruby saying anything she shouldn’t, not in front of Jess, and Dean’s good opinion had been lost to him long before he went to Hell. “Jess, Dean, Castiel, these are Meg and Ruby. Meg, Ruby, these are my wife Jessica, my brother Dean, and Castiel.”

“These women are demons, Sam,” Castiel pointed out severely.

“Yeah. And they just saved our lives,” he gasped. 

Meg was looking Cas up and down. “Don’t worry, Clarence. We’re like ice cream. We come in different flavors. We’re pretty lickable, too.” 

Cas frowned, distracted from his angelic wrath for a moment. “What does licking have to do with demons? Or ice cream?” 

Dean and Jess both cleared their throats loudly. “Hey – injured law student here,” Dean growled. “Can we get him to a hospital or something?” 

“Yeah I’m real thrilled about going in with stab wounds from the scene of something like this.” Sam gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “The blade didn’t hit anything vital, just give me stitches –“

“You don’t know that for sure,” his wife pointed out. “You’re bleeding all over the place!” Dean was busy trying to wad up his own flannel shirt and use it as a bandage or more like a plug to stop the bleeding. You’d think the guy hadn’t ever seen any kind of injury before, had any kind of training. _It’s because it’s you, jackass_ , part of his mind pointed out. He didn’t listen – it was the hopeful part, the part that thought Dean might have come to him if he’d called. It had nothing constructive to offer here.

“Can’t the angel just fix him up?” Ruby demanded innocently. She’d always been good at that act, the wide-eyed innocence. Even with her true face she’d been nearly able to pull it off, only the fact that they were in Hell and Sam’s own lack of hope keeping him safe. “I mean, it’s a thing, they can do that.” 

Dean rose and met Castiel’s eyes. “Is that a ‘thing,’ Cas?” 

“I… I don’t know if it’s permitted, Dean.” Castiel looked away.

“You don’t know if it’s permitted?” His brother’s voice was more animal than human by now but he spoke quietly, firmly. “You don’t know if it’s permitted? I mean, your superiors wanted something from Sammy and me, right? That’s why you were supposed to bring us back together. Both of us. Not just me, but both of us.” Castiel nodded. “So, are ‘we’ going to be able to do that if one of us is dead behind a supermarket?” 

Sam saw the look on the angel’s face. “Leave him alone, Dean. I’m not even sure that he can heal me.”

“What do you mean?” Dean didn’t move his eyes from Castiel’s. “Your girlfriend just said he could.” 

“I can heal humans, Dean.” Castiel spoke now. “I cannot heal a demon. Sam lies somewhere in between.”

Watching the changing emotions on Dean’s face hurt more than the actual stab wound. “Come on,” Jess whispered in his ear. “Let me get you up.” Ruby came around to his other side and they got him into a standing position. 

Meg moved over to them and took Sam’s phone. “Call me when you’re ready to talk. I know we can’t exactly just waltz into your house, but we should meet up. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, little bro.” She passed it back after adding something to it; he presumed that it was her contact information but given that it was Meg it might well have been a summoning ritual or the address of a pizza place. He gave her a half-hearted grin and a nod. He could barely keep his eyes open and he honestly didn’t want to. The blood condemned him, it always had and it always would. He let oblivion claim him once the women had crammed him into the back of the station wagon and covered him with the blankets they kept there for just such emergencies. 

He woke up in his own bed back at the house. His side had been neatly stitched; he recognized Pastor Jim’s work even before he saw the man. “Glad to see you waking up, Sam,” he smiled gently. “I was starting to worry.”

“How was your drive?” Sam asked. He knew Jim worried, he did. He just didn’t like to think about it. 

“It was about as good a drive as any ride with Bobby Singer is going to be.” He paused. “So. Angels are real.” 

Sam laughed a little. “Angels are real.” 

“Are they all like that?”

“Uh, I’ve only met two.”

“Good point.” He looked away for a moment. “So. Dean and Jess haven’t murdered each other yet. That’s a good thing.”

“Yeah.” They paused. 

“So. Looks like we’re in a bit of a mess.”

“Could always be worse, Sam.”

“Good point.” He smiled. “It’s, um. It’s good to see Dean again, you know? Even though it’s different. Even though I… even though I’m not what he wants, not something he can love. It’s good to see him.”

Jim grabbed his hand. “Sam, listen. I know he’s got a crappy way of showing it and I know your dad didn’t do him any favors. And yeah, there are some things to overcome, for both of you. But he wants to. He is trying, although I know it’s hard to tell sometimes. Come on. Do you feel up to moving around at all?”

“I’d better start,” he admitted with a soft smile. “The longer I wait the worse it’ll get.” He let the priest help him out of the bed, gritting his teeth against the pulling of the stitches. He’d had worse, after all. “What’s the status? How long have I been out?”

“Twelve hours. Jess called your professors; you’re good. There haven’t been any exciting new developments in terms of demons. Your brother’s practically fallen over from anxiety, the angel hasn’t moved from the living room, I think Singer might want to dissect him. Andy’s around, pretty much everyone else is at work.”

“Is Dean feeling okay? He got dosed up pretty well.” He paused by the door. “Has anyone explained what’s going on here in more detail to you?” 

Jim grinned. “Jess gave us the details when she stopped in for lunch. I’m meeting with Father Rodriguez tomorrow to get access to some of the earlier parish records. Sometimes the clerical collar has its advantages, Sam.” 

Sam forced his body to relax a little bit. Jim and Bobby were fantastic hunters and great resources in terms of knowledge and lore. They would help. “Thanks, sir. Any idea where Dean is right now?” 

“I think he was down in the living room last time I checked. He was exploring the household DVD collection.” Jim escorted Sam down to the living room. He was perfectly capable of walking down there by himself but what was he going to do, shoo away the man who’d cared for him when his own family rejected him? All he wanted to do was help. 

Dean and Castiel looked up when he descended the stairs; Sam tried not to itch at the sensation of grace against his consciousness. It wasn’t like he could actually scratch his soul. “Hi, guys,” he greeted quietly.

“Sammy!” Dean sprang to his feet. “How you doin’, buddy? Let me get you something to drink, or a snack –“ 

Sam chuckled. “I’m okay, Dean.” 

“You lost quite a bit of blood, Sam.” Castiel disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a tall glass of orange juice. “This may help.” 

Sam accepted the beverage almost on autopilot. “Thank you -?” 

“I’ll get some snacks,” Jim offered. “I know where everything is and what Sam will eat.” He smiled at them and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean took his arm and guided him to a seat between him and the angel on the couch. “I’ve been trying to educate Castiel on the basics of human culture. It’s hard work though, Sammy. He just cannot get it through his head that Star Trek is the greatest science fiction series of all time.” 

“That’s because it isn’t,” Sam replied automatically, sipping from the glass. The juice was easily the best he’d ever sampled. “Star Wars is a thousand times better.” 

“You’re a Philistine. Come on – how can the five year mission not top the same crappy story that’s been told since Homer?” Green eyes rolled impressively as he turned to his companion. Sam had to grin. Dean might like to give the impression that he read at a third grade level and hadn’t much use for education beyond “Front – Toward Enemy,” but the reality was that his intellect could keep pace with almost anyone else’s. If he’d made the decision to do so, college wouldn’t have been out of reach for him – even a scholarship like the one Sam had gotten.

“There’s a reason the Odyssey story keeps getting told, Dean. It still resonates.” He took a deeper gulp from his glass.

Castiel gestured toward the television. “I have watched all three Star Wars films and I must confess that I found them to be very pleasant if somewhat redundant. Dean’s own persona bears some resemblance to the Han Solo character.”

Dean smirked at Sam. “That makes you Chewbacca. You need a damn haircut.” 

“You just want the snazzy red stripes on your pants,” Sam scoffed. “Did you… did you not sleep, Dean?” 

“I slept plenty after Gordon shot me up with whatever. Drink your juice, Sammy. We need you to get you back on your feet. Can’t be fighting demons if you’re a few pints low.” He clapped him on the back in what was probably a companionable gesture.

“Speaking of which, Alistair made a comment yesterday that made me realize something, Dean. Have you ever been possessed?” He forced his brother to meet his eyes. “This is serious. He threatened to possess you.” Bile rose up in his stomach at the very thought.

Dean looked away. “Not me.”

“Dad?” Sam prodded. 

Dean nodded. “It was just for a little while – a few hours. But you can exorcise – I mean, you shouldn’t but you can exorcise me without even breaking a sweat, Sammy. It’s not a big deal.” 

The bitterness in his laugh surprised even him. “Yeah, you can say that because it hasn’t happened to you.” He massaged his face briefly. “Look. Yeah, I can exorcise you – if I’m around when you get hit, and if I’m conscious, and if I get to you before the demon inside does something fun and exciting like snapping your neck from the inside. And even if not, there’s nothing…” He took a deep breath over several seconds, exhaled it. There was no way to convey the horror of possession to Dean, not in words. Trying would only frustrate him both and keeping control of his emotions was key. “Obviously if Dad got possessed that’s not something he really talked about with you. Not because he didn’t trust you,” he added when he saw his brother’s face fall, “but because there aren’t words. There’s no reason to put yourself through that kind of thing if you don’t have to.” He grimaced. 

Dean opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I’m going out on a limb here and guessing you’ve got first hand experience.” Sam nodded. “While you were…” He nodded again. “Man. That’s… “ 

“At least we were downstairs, you know? Couldn’t hurt any innocent people.” He squirmed. This was not something he wanted to discuss, or even contemplate. “Look, the point is that I want you to be protected. All of us have anti-possession charms that we wear, but –“ 

“But charms can be lost,” Castiel finished with a grim fold to his lips. “A tattoo would be reasonable. For both of you,” he added, glancing over at Sam. “Perhaps for all of the residents, but considering that you are the ones who have Heaven’s interest I would expect that demons would have an exceptional interest in you.”

“What about you, Cas?” Dean wondered. “I mean, I get that you’re, uh, not human, but –“

“An angel cannot be possessed,” the angel intoned flatly.

“I’m actually not entirely certain that that’s the case. If the demon were powerful enough and the angel’s hold on the host were insufficiently solid I think it’s possible. Plus the possibility exists that you could be pulled out of your vessel,” Sam added.

“That’s impossible,” the celestial informed them, eyes narrowed.

“Actually not. There’s a spell, I know I’ve seen it. Alistair knows it. The subject, uh, came up in conversation.” His cheeks burned and God but he missed Jess. He wouldn’t have to see the curiosity, the demand for information in her eyes. She already knew. “For that matter I might be able to do it myself, I don’t know. I’m not all that interested in trying,” he continued as both Castiel and Dean puffed up. “Lucifer also might have suggested that Heaven could call an angel out of his vessel if need be. Either way, an angelic vessel would be a real prize for a demon, wouldn’t he?” He met Castiel’s gaze firmly.

“He’s got a point, Cas,” Dean added. “I mean I don’t know jack about angelic crap but all of the bases should get covered, right?” 

Pastor Jim returned to the room carrying a tray with cold tofu slices drizzled with sesame and soy sauce along with a couple bowls of nuts – good snacks for after blood loss. Dean made a face. “Is that tofu?”

“You’re welcome to go get a burger, Dean,” the priest informed mildly. “This is what Sam had on hand.” 

Dean turned disgusted eyes on him. “Tofu? Seriously? You have been in California too long, man. Psychic stuff I can absorb, eventually maybe. But tofu? Come on.” 

Sam made a show of taking a tofu slice and putting it into his mouth slowly, sucking it out from between his fingers like he was in some kind of erotic food eating contest. “Mmmm… oh, Dean. Oh! The texture! Ah! The bean curd! Oh!” 

Dean squirmed away as Jim snickered. “I’m going to go do something more manly like paint my nails or invest in pointe shoes,” his brother grumbled, moving to the very edge of the couch. 

Sam cackled. “All right, if you can come up with a short list of tattoo parlors I’ll work on a design.” And the item in the vault, he added mentally. And the problem with Anna, and whatever Meg and Ruby are doing here, and a research paper for my criminal law class… 

He retreated to the upstairs to work on the issues requiring more discretion, balancing the snacks with him. It had felt good to tease Dean again, to see his brother relax a little, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the good feelings would last if he knew who was on the other end of the phone call. Meg picked up after two rings. “Hey, Sammy.” He could see the sneer just as clearly as if she were in front of him. “What took you so long?” 

“Unconsciousness,” he retorted. “What brings you by?” 

“Aw, I’m hurt. I’d have thought you weren’t happy to hear from me. And after all we went through together, too!” She let out a little laugh. 

He sighed. “Meg, we’ve definitely been through a lot. It’s true. Not all of it was lollipops and candy canes.”

“Demon,” she pointed out bluntly. “I still helped you in the end. And I’m looking to help you now. We both are.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re not going to buy that it’s out of the goodness of our hearts?” 

“Probably not.” “You always were a smart cookie. You’re working with angels.” 

He paused. “Well, there’s an angel camped out on my couch. I don’t exactly have a can of Angel-B-Gone handy. He’s not hostile, not yet.” 

She snorted. “He will be. And you know it. Those winged dicks never have the best interests of any of us at heart. Once they’re done with whatever it is that they want you to do they’ll blast you straight back to Hell.” “The thought has occurred to me.” He made himself eat more of the tofu, even though his stomach roiled. 

“Then why are you allowing it anywhere near you?” she seethed. 

“Because whatever other plan Heaven has cooking, they want to screw up something Lilith has going on.” There was no reason to hide that from Meg; she and Lilith had never been all that close. Besides, both Ruby and Meg were loyal to Lucifer first and foremost, and Lucifer was not overfond of his firstborn. “Nothing that Lilith might do topside could possibly be good for humanity.” 

She paused. “Valid,” she finally agreed. “You’re not looking to make a play?”

“No. You know better.” He repressed a full body shiver. “For crying out loud, you’ve been in my head.” 

“Not in a long, long time, Sammy. Things could have changed. Look. We should meet up when you can avoid getting smote by Captain Featherduster there. I think the thing in that church is a weapon – something that could help a demon kill an angel, even a very strong angel.” She sighed. “Get wifey to take you out to dinner. I know Ruby’s dying to see her again.” 

The tofu threatened to make a repeat appearance, although he managed to keep it down. “I’ll see what I can do. If not that, maybe meet up at a bar later?” 

“Mmm, Sammy walking the wild side! What would our Master say? Catch you later, little brother.” 

*

Castiel stayed with Dean in the home of Azazel’s spawn to research tattoo parlors. He had minimal interest in receiving a tattoo himself but he understood the utility once Sam explained things to him. He’d never heard of a spell that could remove an angel from its vessel but that didn’t mean that one didn’t exist. It had been a very long time since angels had needed to fight angels and that sounded more like demonic magic than something an angel would be inclined to do. Of course an angel’s superior probably could summon him out of his vessel if need be. He couldn’t think of circumstances that would require such drastic action but that would render Jimmy Novak vulnerable – the tattoo would be a sensible precaution. 

Naturally his ability to fly and to remain invisible became invaluable in examining the different artists available. Dean found five artists whose online reviews and portfolios were adequate. Of them, Castiel rejected one out of hand based on clientele and some of the representative artwork he had posted – the man did not seem to be possessed at the moment but he had ties to organizations and individuals that would certainly attract demonic attention. Two more were rejected on the grounds of sanitation – their online reviews might have been top-notch but an angel had senses not available to the general public or even health inspectors. Of the final two he decided that he simply liked one of the artists better – her detail work was more precise and the professionalism with which she treated her clients was superior to the other. He simply walked up to her appointment book and altered reality so that her afternoon and evening consisted of the Winchesters. Other angels – Zachariah, Michael, even Anael when she lived – could have bent reality to create a time loop so that the other people could still get their time and tattoos, but Castiel’s talents did not extend so far. This much, though, he could do. 

Then he called Dean and told him to bring Sam. The brothers were less enthusiastic than he had expected. Dean used many words that should probably not have been used on an angel of the Lord. “You should show me some respect,” he growled at his charge, who called him a “controlling little snot ladle” in return. He nevertheless showed up twenty minutes later with his brother in tow. Sam was texting. 

The artist, Jenny, was confused by the lack of other appointments on her calendar. Apparently this was not standard procedure for getting a tattoo. “There’s a consultation, and there’s a design –“ 

Castiel sensed her panic and displeasure and placed two fingers to her temple. “This is the work of Heaven,” he informed her solemnly. “It is acceptable to work around typical procedures in this instance.” He ignored the way both brothers’ faces tightened up. 

Jenny’s face went blank for a moment and then she smiled. “Right. Well, as long as it’s Heaven’s work, right?” She turned her store sign to the closed position. “Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Sam gave Cas a measured look as he pushed past him and approached the artist. “Uh, yeah. Here – this is basically what we want, and absolutely everything on this pendant needs to be copied exactly. I kind of want to add a few things, though.” She grabbed some paper and the two bowed their heads over it, voices lowered. 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s collar and pulled him into the waiting room. “Look, Cas, you can’t just… forcibly change peoples’ minds like that,” he told him, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. 

“It was necessary,” the angel insisted. “She was balking.” 

“But you can’t just override someone else’s free will!” Dean insisted. “It’s not right! She has the right to balk, man. If she doesn’t want to do something she has the right. It’s her choice, her shop.” 

Castiel blinked. “We are soldiers. We are fighting a war against Hell, Dean. An angel does not have the luxury of considering free will and even if he did, he would not be at liberty to do so under wartime conditions.” 

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I get it. You’re a hammer. Sure. But Jenny? She’s not a soldier. She’s a pretty woman with a valuable skill – she doesn’t know squat about the supernatural, she doesn’t want to know squat about the supernatural. She wants to do some funky tattoos and get paid for it. Okay? She doesn’t deserve to have her free will taken away because we’re at war!” 

“Would your father have allowed himself to be swayed by concerns for her free will?” Castiel challenged. “He would have done what was needful to protect his sons and win the war.” 

Dean’s face had initially lost all color at the mention of his father, but two spots of red appeared in his cheeks when Castiel mentioned protection. “Yeah he protected his sons real well, Cas. For all that he ran over Sammy’s free will he kept him real safe, didn’t he? Pushed him right to Stanford and then right to Hell, and who knows if he’ll ever be right again.” 

The angel paused. “I hadn’t thought of things in quite that way,” he confessed. 

The blond snorted. “No shit.” 

Perhaps he would have elaborated. Perhaps not. The return of Sam and Jenny prevented Castiel from ever finding out. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected he was glad. 

“Okay, I think we have a design worked out,” the latter announced, brandishing a piece of paper. “Does this look right for everyone?” Dean had little to offer when it came to sigils and protection signs – he had plenty of practical knowledge, but little interest in the research necessary to design something of this nature. He grunted his acquiescence to whatever his companions saw fit, and Castiel inspected the design minutely. Sam’s knowledge of the arcane was deeper than expected, although perhaps he should give the abomination more credit considering his upbringing and past.

“Creative,” he observed. “I shall be proud to bear it on my skin.” 

Jenny looked at him as though he’d just said something inappropriate while Dean shook his head. “Excuse him, Cas doesn’t really get out of the house much. Can we all be there while each other gets inked up? I mean, do you mind? It’s kind of my first tattoo and I’m a little nervous, I know it’s his –“ 

She rolled her brown eyes. “Whatever. Sure. You’re paying, as long as you don’t touch anything that needs to stay sterile. Come on.” Dean went first. Castiel found himself amazed by the number of scars on his charge’s torso, even though he’d been assigned to watch over him since birth. He hadn’t only been assigned to watch him, after all, and he knew that a hunter’s life was dangerous. He saw Sam’s hazel eyes run down Dean’s bare chest and knew he was cataloguing the new scars, wondering about the state of old injuries. “Dad always was crap at stitches,” the younger Winchester muttered. 

“That’s what he had you for, bitch,” Dean smirked as Jenny drew the design onto Dean’s pectoral, right over his heart.

“That’s what doctors are for,” Sam retorted, giving Jenny a nod of approval before she started the ink.

“Wouldn’t have needed a doctor if you’d have stayed,” Dean snapped. 

“Are you a medical doctor?” Jenny inquired politely as the tattoo machine began to buzz. 

“I’m a law student,” Sam grinned. 

“Then no, you’d still have needed a doctor.” Dean glared, but shut up. 

Castiel’s turn was next, and the angel found himself surprised by how much the tattoo hurt. It wasn’t enough to elicit screams of anguish, but it was enough to be uncomfortable and to elicit a few winces and grunts and he hadn’t been expecting that even though Dean himself had made the same sounds. He’d fought in wars – he’d fought against creatures that had no name, creatures too vile to be contained in physical bodies and enemies that could wound not only his form but his actual Grace. A simple tattoo should not be an issue for him. 

Sam showed no reaction when he received his marking; indeed, he looked almost bored. Castiel supposed he’d undergone worse.

Jess showed up in the middle of Sam’s tattoo, accompanied by both of the demon women. Dean’s expression darkened, prompting smirks from both of the hellions, but neither could do anything about the situation. Not in front of the tattoo artist. The blonde seemed to want to avoid the one called Ruby, not that she seemed all that fond of either demon, but she didn’t seem to be under duress either. “Tattoos, Sam?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Both he and Jenny grimaced at the same time. “I sent you a text,” Sam told her.

“Relax, honey. It’s actually pretty hot.” She grinned. 

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together more or less of their own accord. The tattoo had felt rather like getting burned, but he could detect no discernable increase in his body temperature. “When you’re done the girls and I want to grab dinner at Sunset Bay.” 

“Jess says their fries are to die for,” Ruby smirked, hands in her back pockets. 

Sam’s eyes were on Jess’. “You really think the tattoo is hot?” 

Her smile changed, and Castiel began to suspect that there might be more than one meaning to the word “hot.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. The demon called Meg glanced at him and raised a speculative eyebrow. “Got some ink yourself there, Clarence? I didn’t think that was de rigeur for the choirboy crowd.” 

He stood straighter. “My name is Castiel. Not Clarence. And I am a warrior, not a choirboy.”

“Are you now? I bet I could get you to sing.”

Dean snickered. Sam made a face from his seat on Jenny’s chair. “Knock it off, Meg.” 

“Only joking, little brother.” She looked Castiel up and down. It made him feel uncomfortable, although he couldn’t decide if the discomfort was good or bad. “Mostly.” 

When Sam’s tattoo was complete Jenny gave them instructions for aftercare that were of course completely useless for Castiel and Dean – Castiel could heal them easily. They then decamped to the establishment the Bride had suggested. Castiel had considered departing – it was not appropriate for him to consort with demons no matter what the circumstances – but Dean insisted that he join them. “You’re on the team, man,” the green-eyed man told him where everyone could hear. “You should hear whatever the big deal is that Sam’s Hell buddies need to tell him.” The taller Winchester flinched at the appellation – clearly the relationship was more complicated than that. 

“Yeah, come with us, Clarence,” Meg purred, sliding her arm around Cas’. He could feel the demon inside the host, black smoke roiling around in her skin. “Sam tells us that we’re all working toward the same goal for now, so let’s work. Shall we?” 

The restaurant proved to be a bar – a bar with an extensive beer menu, but one with multiple pool tables and a food menu that mostly involved nachos and wings nonetheless. These were not the optimal foods on which human warriors should dine if they were to be at their peak to fight the forces of evil but perhaps the Bride knew what her spouse would eat better than Castiel did. Dean certainly seemed to appreciate the menu, and only half of those present needed to eat anyway. “So what is it that you wished to discuss?” Castiel demanded of the demons, trying to limit his contact with the unclean ones. 

“Well, whatever is in that church is a weapon,” Ruby observed. “Lilith wants it for her own reasons.”

“Duh.” Dean rolled his eyes as he took a mouth full of cheese-and-beef-laden tortilla chip. “No one’s going to send a creature like Alistair after a trinket, you know?” 

Ruby glared. “There’s a reason that Heaven can’t just get right into the room and rescue the object themselves, dumbass,” Meg pointed out. “I’ve been told that the weapon is particularly useful against angels.” 

“The room was warded against angels,” Sam observed, turning the pint glass in his hands around absently. “That makes sense, or it would if someone wanted to keep angels from… killing other angels…” 

“That’s not something we do,” Castiel objected firmly, putting his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Heaven is a family. We don’t – we don’t hurt each other.”

“And if someone disobeys?” Ruby objected. “If an angel were to turn his back on Heaven?” 

“Lucifer and those who fell with him are a special case,” Castiel hissed. He shouldn’t get angry, he knew. Emotions were to be avoided. They were gateways to doubt, and no good could possibly come from that. “They waged war on us!” 

Sam cleared his throat. “He tells a different story,” he murmured. 

“He would,” Dean sniffed. “You’re not buying into the whole Sympathy for the Devil shtick, are you, Sammy?” 

“Other angels fell,” Jess observed. “Azazel, for example, was a fallen angel. A regular demon could not have done what he did with Sam and the others.” 

“Good point, sister.” Meg smiled at the blonde. “Daddy dearest wasn’t very angelic but he’s one of them. There are others down there. But those are just some examples. Other angels have fallen without popping into the hot box. I think that whoever locked that toy away wanted to keep anyone – angel, Fallen, or demon – from being able to use it to gain more power than they should. And Lilith wants it.”

“What the Hell does she want with it though?” Dean growled. The mention of Azazel seemed enough to ruin his mood. Castiel supposed he could understand. 

“I can think of one angel she’d like to eliminate pretty quickly,” Ruby leered.

Jess frowned. “But… I thought he was her maker. I thought she was devoted to him!” She grabbed a buffalo wing and nibbled on it. 

“Yeah, well, if he’s ever going to get out of his Cage she has to be killed,” Sam swallowed. “It, uh, came up,” he added when the humans and angel at the table turned to stare at him. “Only in a certain order – other things have to happen first, like a combination lock on the Apocalypse. If we can kill her first it’s not a problem.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If she can off him before that can happen she can truly take over Hell.” 

“She’s not already running the show?” Dean grunted, still scowling.

“Not entirely,” Ruby smiled. “Azazel was a Lucifer loyalist. Some of us still are. Plus, I don’t think she’s likely to stop herself with killing Lucifer.” 

“Hell is Hell,” Meg continued. Her hand on Cas’ arm had been playful but now it stilled. It stilled and he found himself placing his own hand over hers. It seemed to be moving of its own accord; he couldn’t understand why he seemed to want to offer comfort to a demon but apparently he did. “Even for demons, Hell is Hell. Why do you think we all want to get out so badly? Why do you think we all fight exorcism so hard, huh? She wants to move beyond the Pit. She’s going to want to take the fight upstairs – not just Earth, but Heaven too.” 

Jess choked on her wing. “She’s not burdened with false modesty, is she?” she sputtered after Sam gave her several pats on the back. “Geez, she doesn’t do things by halves, does she?” 

“Sounds like her, to be honest,” Sam admitted. “I mean, I didn’t know her well but we met a few times while I was…” 

“She liked you, Sammy,” Ruby sneered. “You screamed so pretty.” Dean growled and the demon rolled her eyes. “What? He did. Fought back like all get-out too. Anyway, the whole point is that Lilith isn’t going to stop coming after that artifact.”

“It’s safest where it is,” Castiel informed them. “Removing it from the warded room is too risky. The person removing it can be harmed and the object stolen.” 

“So cut off the head of the snake,” the temptress urged bluntly. “Kill Lilith and the whole problem goes away.” 

“And you get something out of it too, don’t you?” Jess surmised. “Meg is Azazel’s daughter. She has a good chance of becoming Queen.” 

“Who cares?” Sam shrugged. “Better her than Lilith.” He made a dismissive gesture. “The rulership of Hell – I mean, if they’re not pestering us, if they’re sticking to the old ways, who cares?” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes and examined the Winchester. His eyes were hazel, human, and his posture open, but his tone was brooding. “You do not see demons as a problem, Samuel?”

“It’s Sam. And I don’t see the person controlling the demons as a problem as long as they aren’t changing the way demons function on this side of the world. Lilith – Lilith is a problem because she’s messing with the way things are supposed to be. She’s trying to take over Earth and Heaven. I don’t give a crap who rules Hell. Heaven isn’t someplace I’ve got much concern with either all things considered. But demons ruling the Earth? That’s a problem.”

Cas stared at him for a moment. He couldn’t find a fault with his words or ideals, although he found himself feeling obscurely guilty about the idea of Heaven being none of Sam’s concern. “Very well,” he said finally.

“All right, all right, put the wings away, boys. No need to get all puffed up,” Jess soothed, patting Sam’s arm. 

“C’mon, Sammy. Let’s go shoot some pool,” Dean suggested. The meeting broke up, becoming more casual, and Castiel made his exit not long afterward.

He returned to Heaven to report in; Zachariah would be interested in the recent developments in Hell. As it turned out Zachariah was interested in the recent developments in Hell. He was also interested in Castiel’s tattoo, and not in a way that suggested approval. “Angels do not scar their vessels,” he seethed. “And you have been in contact not only with the Abomination but with full demons!” 

“And in doing so I have gained valuable intelligence,” Castiel returned evenly. “Is it not valuable to know that Lilith may be planning to assault Heaven?” 

“So? It is not as though she can harm angels?” Castiel realized that he had not given his superior the details of the artifact’s capabilities. He wondered why he had not done so. A good soldier did not keep secrets from his commander. He continued to conceal the knowledge, however.


	6. Like They Put The Whole Thing Together In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets a nice angel. Sam meets a less nice angel. Cas tries to explain.

Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole demon meet-up they’d had the night before. On the one hand they were demons, and he just didn’t feel comfortable letting them go free when he could have exorcised them or whatever. On the other, they had saved their lives the previous night and Sam did seem to know them and trust them to some extent. 

If he’d had a third hand Dean would have had to admit that he didn’t like the way Meg called Sammy “little brother,” or the way either of them sneered the name “Sammy” at him. Those – those words were for him and for him alone.

It had been nice, though, to go and shoot some pool with his brother. Cas had told him that Sam had kept up with the hustling in school but he hadn’t really believed it – the kid had always hated it, complained about it until the words just kind of formed a low-grade static in the background that Dean could safely tune out. A white noise, really, and he guessed that had come back to bite him in the end. He’d never even realized that Sam was going to go to college but evidently he’d told them outright, said he wasn’t going to be a hunter and it just got tuned out with everything else he said. But playing pool had been fun. Sam moved stiffly around the stitches and maybe a bit stiff with the tattoo – Cas wouldn’t try to heal Sam’s tattoo because of his blood, which pissed Dean off but what could he really do about it? – but he still absolutely knew what he was doing. He might have been better than Dean, although it was hard to tell. Was he using telekinesis? Maybe? Who could tell with his freaky mind powers and whatnot? 

In the end Cas had gone off to Heaven and Jess and Sam rode back to Casa De Azazel-Spawn in Baby with Dean. The demons went away to wherever they went and Sam relaxed visibly when they left. “Not a happy reunion there Sammy?” Dean couldn’t help but tease. 

Sam, in the shotgun seat where he belonged, sat quietly for a moment. “Meg and Ruby are loyal to Lucifer,” he said finally. “If they’re here because they’re protecting Him, we can trust them.” Jess’ hand crept over the back of the seat and over his shoulder and he gripped it tightly.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Dean asked him after a moment.

“Nothing relevant. I’m glad we got the tattoos. They’re not going to hurt me now,” he continued, “and you’re both my family so they’ll leave you alone. Mostly.” He managed half a grin and damn if the kid couldn’t look like the most pathetic thing on feet if he put his mind to it. “I mean, they are demons.” 

Dean didn’t believe for even half a minute that he was getting the full story, but he had to decide how much of the full story he really wanted. Instead he drove back to the house in silence. Neither of his passengers seemed to mind. The house wasn’t void of activity despite the late hour. Jo was a night owl thanks to her work at the bar; she and Scott were up playing Scrabble with Ava and another woman. The woman looked like she was about the same age as the freaks – psychics, he corrected himself immediately – and had long, straight, fire engine red hair. She startled when the door opened but smiled and relaxed at the sight of Sam and Jess. “Hey,” she greeted. 

Dean stepped forward. “Hello there.” She was on the thin side for his usual tastes but with eyes like that he wasn’t sure that he cared. “I’m Dean.” 

“I’m Anna,” she introduced. “I’m, uh, I’m a friend of theirs.”

Crap. “A friend?” 

Sam sighed. “She’s not like us, Dean.” For a moment, just a few seconds, his exhaustion showed on his face. “Anna, you might want to come and talk about this privately.” 

Anna’s red eyebrows drew together. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Sam. I didn’t choose for any of this to happen to me. I don’t know why any of this is happening to me. I don’t know why I can hear angels, or why my parents got killed, or why demons are suddenly so interested in me –“ 

Jess exchanged a glance with her husband and took a seat beside the redhead. “I know, Anna. No one here asked for what happened to them, okay? Not even Dean.”

“Hey!” Dean objected.

“But we think we’ve figured out what’s going on with you. Between Sam and Bobby and me, that is.” She took Anna’s pale hand in hers, generous lips thinning out for a moment. “Sam?” 

Dean sat on a couch as Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, you’re going to need to keep this under wraps, okay? Even from Castiel.” 

“Like I’d give him a crack at a lovely lady like her.” The line was cheesy, borderline sleazy, and Dean knew it. He was trying to loosen up the atmosphere and he had to admit that the joke fell flat. “Seriously, though, I’ll keep my trap shut. Just spit it out, Sammy. People are dying.”

The line, stolen from their father, earned him a bitchface before he continued. “So, we’ve done some research and we’ve done some, uh, less orthodox research and I think we’ve figured out what’s going on with you. Why the demons are so interested in you. It’s not just so they can get you to listen in on Angel Radio, although that’s interesting in and of itself.”

“What is it?” she pressed. “What’s wrong with me?” Her voice went up at least three octaves. 

Sam sighed again. “There isn’t really an easy way to put this. Um, you’re hearing angels because you are an angel.” 

No one moved for a full sixty seconds, not even Dean. Finally Anna blinked. “Bullshit.”

“Yeah, no, I wish.” He grinned weakly. “That’s part of why we needed Bobby’s help. Um.” 

“No. I’m human. I was born – to human parents. I have no wings, no halo, no… no powers, no anything.” Her voice was steady but her eyes shone wetly. “I’m human!” 

“I’m sorry, Anna. I really am.” Sam stepped back. 

Jess gave him a sympathetic look before turning her attention back to the girl. “Look, it’s the only thing that fits. Plenty of people – psychics, people like Sam and the others – can do some of what you can do even without the blood of a demon. Even that’s… well, that’s unusual. But only angels can hear other angels.” 

“But what about her body?” Jo pressed. “I mean, you said angels need a vessel to operate on the material plane.” She had her father’s knife in her hand and twirled it around, a nervous habit she’d had for as long as Dean had known her. “She was born into this body. They’re not false memories, you hacked her records from the hospital where she was born!” 

Anna turned outraged eyes onto Sam. Dean’s were more impressed than outraged; for all his baby brother’s bitching about hunting he was still pretty good at it. He just seemed to use some different methods than other hunters – and it wasn’t like Dean hadn’t called on Ash to do the same thing a time or two. How often had Ash farmed out Dean’s requests to Sam? Or Bobby? Sam ran his fingers through his hair and blushed. “I didn’t want to get you worked up if it wasn’t what I thought it was. I know I invaded your privacy and that’s… that’s got to be very uncomfortable for you, Anna. I just wasn’t sure how to help you more respectfully and I needed to be sure.

“The thing is,” he continued, “there are three ways for an angel to Fall. An angel can be cast out of Heaven for rebellion – you’re probably pretty familiar with that old story and I’m sure I don’t need to cover it again.” His face lost some color when he mentioned it. Yeah, Dean definitely wasn’t getting the whole story. “An angel can just lose their connection to Heaven – it’s still a decision, it’s still punitive, but it’s, uh, it’s not as violent and it doesn’t involve demonization. The victim just slowly loses their abilities, becoming for all intents and purposes a mildly psychic human. Or, and this doesn’t happen very often, the angel can choose to fall. They can cut out their Grace and be born into a human form.” “Your parents were infertile, Anna. I’m not sure which one of them had the issue, but the fact is that they were never intended to become parents by biological means.”

Jess took up the story, still holding the girl’s hand. Dean found himself holding his breath as he watched a couple of tears pop out of Anna’s eyes. This poor girl – what must she not be going through? How could she believe this, but how could she deny this? “My mother always called me her little miracle,” the younger woman confessed with a sad smile. 

“She wasn’t wrong,” Sam offered from a safe distance. “I guess that Falling caused you to suppress your memories. Apparently you still had some of them when you were two or so, because you received psychiatric treatment for what I’m guessing was actually a legitimate fear that your angelic siblings would hunt you down.” He sighed. “This is a lot to take in, I know. Believe me, I know.” 

“How can you know?” she shot back, rising to her feet. “You’re still… you’re still you. You’re still human!” More than a few people cleared their throats at that. 

Sam hung his head for a moment and then looked up again. His eyes had gone gold. “Not so much, Anna. I’ve been there. I want to help you, and I’m going to help you if you’ll let me. You’ve still got some decisions to make, some things to figure out. Demons will still be interested in you, and angels – well, I don’t know how they’re going to feel about you now. It’s not like you remember whatever it is that made you Fall in the first place.”

Dean looked away from his brother. He didn’t want to be reminded of Sam’s connection to Yellow Eyes. It wasn’t something he’d chosen but still wasn’t something he liked to see. “It’s not so bad, though,” he offered. “I mean, angel, right? You get cool powers, you get to heal people.” He tried not to see the look of unabashed disgust that Jess threw him, or the way Sam just wouldn’t look at him at all. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t do me much good if I don’t remember any of it.” Anna gripped her hair and tugged – not hard enough to do damage, but hard enough to prompt Ava to step in and gently disengage her hands. “It’s possible that you could remember, eventually. I can try to walk you through some meditations,” Sam offered. “Try to do it with the minimum of trauma. Or Pastor Jim could, if you’re more comfortable with someone a little more human.”

“But if I ripped out my – my whatever, my Grace,” she swallowed, fingers twisting around each other as her shoulders tried to fold in on themselves, “is there a point? I mean, would I still be able to do anything?”

“You’ve already shown you can do some things – hear the angels’ communications, summon extra strength and speed,” Jess offered gently, back pointedly to Dean. “I don’t know if your Grace could be found or not, or if you’d want it back.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Dean blurted.

“Probably because there’s a reason she tore it out in the first place.” Scott shook his head. “She wasn’t cast out like –“ He cut himself off and glanced at Sam. “Anyway, she chose to leave. There has to be a reason, right? But that’s not the most important thing. The most important thing is keeping Anna safe and helping her get through this.” 

“It’s not like most of us don’t have some experience finding out that we’re not exactly what we thought we were,” Ava told her sympathetically. Dean bit his lip. It was different for Sam, for them. That wasn’t rocket science. Angels – they might be freaky, cold, clueless, they might be giant tools, but they weren’t evil. Demons, on the other hand, were every dark thing, every vile thing, every piece of filth and degradation and hate distilled into black smoke and oil. Angels came from Heaven, from Paradise. Demons – well, demons. Anything they touched was inherently tarnished. At the same time here was Sammy – Sammy, after everything that had happened to him, reaching out to this angel girl and offering quiet help in that gentle voice of his. It was different, he knew it was different, but it was Sam.

“Let me… let me think about this for a while, would you?” Anna shuddered. “I’m kind of overwhelmed.” 

“You think?” Sam snorted. “We get it. Trust me.” The redhead retreated to her room, leaving the more experienced supernatural-adjacent individuals to stare at each other over the abandoned Scrabble game. 

Dean knew he was the reason the level of awkward had swelled like a sponge. He just didn’t know what he should do about it. “So,” he offered. “About that church.” 

“Yeah,” Jo joined in brightly. “The church. More to the point, I called my mom about Bela Talbot.”

“Ellen knows Bela Talbot?” Jess drew Sam down to the couch and snuggled up next to him, head on his shoulder.

“Mom knows a lot of people,” the blonde scoffed. “She’s not a fan, but she does know that she’s not terribly scrupulous about who she works with. She gets results though. She gets artifacts and crap like that for buyers – like a supernatural Indiana Jones.” 

“Oh – she said to tell you that Gordon Walker’s on his way back here,” Scott added quickly. “And he’s pissed.” 

Dean distinctly did not yelp. That would have been unmanly. “What the Hell, man? I thought Cas dropped him right at the police station!” 

“They didn’t have any reason to hold him, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s laws about that sort of thing, not that they get applied to people of color in Florida all that often. I wouldn’t have expected Castiel to have thought of that. Angels aren’t exactly known for their grasp of constitutional law or due process.”

“But his pockets were full of roofies!” the elder Winchester objected. 

“They couldn’t search his pockets!” Sam retorted. “Not that they could use that against him! It’s not like the vial in his pocket would have been labeled ‘This Is An Illegal Drug I’m Going To Use To Knock Out My Hunting Buddy!” He glared. “All right. This is sub-optimal.”

Jess petted his hair. “He doesn’t know where the house is. And I don’t think it’s Dean he’s mad at, not really. I mean he hates us, but he’ll be more mad at Castiel, right?”

“It’s hard to suss out exactly what will set Gordon off sometimes,” Dean admitted, rubbing his face with his hands. “He’s not exactly wired like the rest of us, you know? He can take off someone’s head with no grudge at all, no kind of hate or venom or anything, but he’ll be relentless. But he can get inventive about taking someone out – torture, you know? And it still won’t be personal.” He shuddered.

“So why do you work with him?” Ava wanted to know. Her nose wrinkled. 

“He’s a damn good hunter. You’d be amazed at how much good he’s done,” Dean defended. “I mean, we’ve put so many fuglies back where they belong –“ 

“Who decides where they belong?” Jess demanded, glaring. “Gordon Walker is an animal. He kills without discrimination – anything that doesn’t meet his definition of human dies, regardless of whether or not it’s harmful. That’s not good work. He took out a healer while I was looking for Sam – someone whose only crime was having an innate ability to heal people.” 

Sam held up a hand. “We’re not going to agree on this,” he said with a quirk of his lips that might have come near to being a smile. “We need to focus on the problem we can solve – how can we protect the church and what’s inside it? I don’t know any wards that will just keep humans away from the crypt or whatever.” 

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think this whole… demons-taking-over-the-world thing is a little beyond our pay grade, man?”

“I don’t know.” His brother shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anyone else who can do anything about it.” 

Dean’s stomach roiled. “I need a drink.” He lurched to his feet. Sam waved a hand absently. “What about a curse box with warding like the stuff that’s on the church?” he suggested. “We could drop it into the deepest part of the ocean or something. Or a volcano.”

Dean staggered outside and retrieved a bottle of Jack. He’d never been one to shirk from responsibility. His whole life had been about responsibility; ever since he’d been four years old it had been about responsibility and restraint. That wasn’t the problem. The stakes were just too much – too much to put on one guy, too much to put on two guys even if they’d managed to get back to where they were supposed to be. Which they hadn’t, because Dean hadn’t managed to keep Sammy in his place. Because Dean hadn’t lived up to his responsibilities. If Dean couldn’t handle taking care of one snot-nosed brat, how could he possibly handle saving the world? 

His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the bottle. 

To hide the tremors he stuck the bottle under his arm and shoved his hands into his pocket. His sister in law gave him the side-eye, but she didn’t say anything as she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. None of the other demon kids seemed at all fazed by the idea of saving the world. Maybe that just came with the territory. Maybe they were just that arrogant. Maybe they were just that deluded, to think they could make a difference. 

Maybe Dean should step up and play his part if he was going to have any kind of effect. 

He opened the bottle and took a long pull straight from it, no glass necessary. He was a Winchester; glassware was for the weak. “All right, I don’t think a wooden curse box is going to survive the pressure at the bottom of the ocean or whatever crap is bubbling up inside a volcano. I don’t care what kind of runes you paint on it,” he added quickly, passing the bottle over to Jo. 

Sam grinned, just a little bit. “Okay. So, what do you think? Maybe a safe?”

*

Ava was the first to drift off to bed. “I don’t know anything about runes or curse boxes or wards,” she insisted, and maybe that was kind of disingenuous of her because she’d learned at least a little bit from Sam and Jess over the past couple of years. “I’ll leave it to you eggheads. Don’t go letting our fearless leader stay up too late,” she warned Jess with a wag of her finger that made Dean’s cheeks pink up.

Scott and Jo left next. Intellectually Sam had known that they knew each other, of course he had. He’d kept tabs on Dean that way, knew about some of his exploits and his health and the ups and downs of his life because of Jo’s sporadic details. He knew he was working with Gordon Walker because of Jo. Knew he’d been en route to California thanks to Jo. But he hadn’t really grasped just how close they were until he saw them interacting together, passing a bottle back and forth like it was something they did all the time. Maybe it was. Maybe Jo was a better sibling for Dean than Sam ever could have been. After all, she was human, all the way human. Her eyes always stayed the same color. Her blood was plain old blood, no sulfur or Grace or whatever. 

Dean was next. He stood and stretched his back. “I guess that’s my cue,” he said. “Don’t stay up too late. We don’t have to come up with the answers all by our lonesome, Sammy.” 

“Why wait?” he shot back.

“Because we have help,” his brother told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and meeting his eyes, “and we can get that help without making ourselves sick first. Don’t you worry, Sammy. We have Pastor Jim. We have Bobby Singer. And we’ve got a real live angel on our side for once. Go to bed. Take care of yourself. Take care of your wife. You’re lucky to have her.” He felt his lips twitch in objection but he held his tongue. 

“He’s right, you know,” Jess informed him as Dean retreated. “We can do this like sensible adults. We don’t have to do all of the work ourselves.” 

Sam let himself smile, forced his body to relax. “That’s not what he’s right about. I mean, I’m not sure how trustworthy the angel is.” He put a hand on Jess’ arm, meeting her eyes. 

She lowered her lashes before tossing her head back and grinning. “Then what is he right about?” 

“I am very lucky to have you as my wife.” He kissed her deeply, hungrily. “So incredibly lucky.” 

They retreated to the bedroom, and eventually they fell asleep. 

Sam intended to sleep in the next day, in as much as he was able. After all, neither running nor yoga nor sparring were in his best interests considering his stitches, and if he could get some extra shut-eye he really should take advantage of the opportunity. The sound of someone pounding on his door at eight o’clock in the morning was therefore exceptionally unwelcome. “Sam! Sam, wake up!” Dean’s voice demanded. 

For half a second Sam thought he was in high school again, and maybe the past ten years hadn’t happened. Then he burrowed back into his wife’s warm embrace, felt her golden hair spilling over his bare flesh, and remembered. “Fuck off, Dean,” he called back. “’M sleeping.”

“Cas is here and he brought a friend,” his brother yelled. “Come on, man. Front and center.” 

Husband and wife sat bolt upright in the bed in identical expressions of horror. “Fuck,” they hissed at the same time. Sam was already swinging his long legs over the side of the bed and heading for the bureau, digging for clothing. 

“I knew allowing an angel here would be a bad idea,” Sam grunted as he drew his underwear up over his legs. 

“Your brother was sick,” Jess pointed out, scrambling to find something to make herself “decent” with. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I should’ve found a way.” He found a pair of jeans and tugged them on too. He considered going down bare-chested. It was rude, but Castiel and his buddy had been rude first by dropping in and interrupting the best night of sleep he’d gotten in a long time. In the end, though, he couldn’t make himself feel so exposed, especially in front of strangers. He donned his preferred layers and jogged down the stairs. Not everyone was there, of course. Andy probably wouldn’t have gotten out of bed before noon for a nuclear bomb, and Jake worked weird hours so he wasn’t even in the house. But everyone else was either downstairs or drifting in, and that wasn’t good. Why couldn’t everyone have stayed in their room where they were safe or at least safer? Dean stood at the forefront of the milling crowd; Sam and Jess rushed to join him there. 

Castiel was there. He looked more wooden than usual, if that were possible. He stood beside a muscular, bald, dark-skinned angel. His features would have been handsome if they weren’t screwed into an expression of contempt. He might have been an inch or so taller than Dean. “Sam,” Castiel greeted softly. “Good morning.” 

“It’s kind of an early morning, Castiel,” Sam pointed out. Everyone acted calm – no one raised their voice, no one moved suddenly, but the hairs on the back of Sam’s arms stood up. And why shouldn’t they? One angel’s appearance on Earth was a momentous occasion. The appearance of a second angel – well, that couldn’t spell any good for anyone. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, but –“ 

“The work of Heaven is more important than your beauty sleep, boy,” the other angel spat, and God but his voice was beautiful. Under other circumstances Sam would have wanted to record him reading anything – maybe his tort law text – and just listened to him reading it for hours. “You are here to serve Heaven’s purpose. Not your own.” 

He opened his mouth to object, because Hell if he was going to be spoken to like that in his own house, but Jess stepped on his foot. “What brings you by Sammy’s humble abode here?” Dean asked with apparent ease. “Is it about the thing in that church basement? Because I gotta say, you’re not really being terribly helpful on that account.” 

“We aren’t here to help you,” the taller angel sneered, turning his back and walking over to the window. “You have a job to do and I’d suggest you do it.” 

“Uriel is a specialist,” Castiel informed them with an apologetic cast to his eyes. “He doesn’t often directly interact with humanity.” 

“Probably for the best.” Sam folded his arms across his chest and forced himself to stop thinking about how to separate an angel from his vessel. It couldn’t be that different from his usual process. “What actually brings you by, Cas?” 

“We’ve become aware that you’re harboring a fugitive angel,” he intoned, recovering his stiffness. “When we believed that you were simply building a home for Azazel’s other children that was deemed to be acceptable to Heaven.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Scott muttered as Dean flinched.

“The psychics are not a threat to Heaven, for the most part,” Dean’s angel continued, blue eyes flicking over to Sam for a moment. Jess gripped her husband’s hand as he continued. “But harboring a fugitive angel is a serious offense. Give us Anael and we will overlook the matter. No better could be reasonably expected of you, all things considered.” 

Sam’s pulse thundered in his ears. “All things considered?” he repeated. “Well, no. You are humans tainted by your connection with Hell, you cannot be held to the same standard as normal humans and you cannot be expected to understand the rules governing angels. But Anael has committed a serious crime and she must pay the penalty.” He didn’t move, not a twitch of his fingers. 

“Cas.” Dean palmed his face. “Stop talking.” 

Uriel spun around. “You watch your tone, boy.” 

“Or what, Junkless?” Dean smirked. “You guys don’t get to come into another guy’s house, insult him and then make demands like that.”

“I did not insult him,” Castiel blinked. 

“Actually you did,” Jess interjected. “You insulted all of us. I think we’d like for you to leave.” 

Sam felt his blood pressure start to lower. 

“We are not leaving without Anael,” Uriel seethed. 

Castiel shook his head a little bit, as though he’d received a mild shock. “You will give her up to us.” 

Was it possible that he couldn’t sense her? That the angels couldn’t pick her out of the crowd of humans? “I don’t think so, Ken Doll,” Dean retorted. “Y’see, Anael – whoever that is – is a free person with free will. And we ain’t giving her up for anything.” 

“We can just take her from you,” Uriel growled, stepping closer to Dean. Sam stepped forward, already reaching out with his mind. He might not know how to pull an angel out of its vessel exactly but he wasn’t going to let this monster hurt Dean. 

Bobby Singer put a hand on his arm though. “I don’t think so, Chuckles,” Dean grinned. “See, you winged dicks want something – that thing under that church. And whatever it is, you need us – me and Sammy – to get it. That’s why you sent Cas here to get us back together. You’re not about to waste that time and effort on hurting one of us. So we’re not giving up Anael, and you can fuck right off. Oh – and you even think about threatening my brother and I will stab you in your face.” He gave another humorless grin. 

Uriel’s face showed a mix of rage and disbelief as he raised his hand. Before he could act, though, a flash of light carried both angels away. “What the –“ Lily gasped, clutching her robe closer to herself. Pastor Jim leaped forward to grab Anna. Sam glanced down. One of her wrists was cut, and an elaborate sigil had been drawn on the table in her blood. He recognized it after a moment. “Angel banishing sigil,” he identified aloud as Scott raced for the first aid kit. “Nice.” Lucifer would be furious if he knew how long it had taken Sam to remember that he knew that one. 

“I don’t even know how I knew that,” the redhead declared shakily. “I just… I just knew it.” 

“Where did they even go?” Ava wanted to know. “Someplace far, far away.” 

Scott had returned with the kit and Bobby began to bandage her arm. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he told her. “I do think we’ve got some problems, though. Wherever you sent them, they’ll be back.” 

“We can put up angel warding,” Sam assured them. “It’s not a problem. I can write it out for you and everything.” He sighed. “Probably should have put it up when we got this place but it’s not like I really thought angels would be part of the mix, you know?” 

“No time like the present.” His brother patted him on the back, almost without hesitating. It was a start. “But Anna, you need to figure out what you want to do. They’re going to be gunning for you, the demons are looking for you for their own reasons, and you don’t even remember why or how to defend yourself.” 

She sighed. “I know. I need to… I need to figure it out. I think that’s… I think that’s how they found me. I was trying to remember.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. “You must have some… I guess residual Grace,” he theorized. “It’s a thing, it happens. It can have side effects. They must have homed in on it.” “I guess.” She flopped against the back of the couch. Sam cursed internally. His decent night’s sleep had been too good to be true. “How can you all be safe while I try to figure it out? I mean, you guys have problems of your own, right?” 

“Yeah, well, those are our problems,” Dean said firmly. “You let us worry about them. You worry about yourself. We’ve got your back, Anna.” 

Sam cleared his throat. His mind raced. “If we’re worried about keeping Anna safe from Lilith’s demons and from angels,” he offered, hating himself more than a little for even thinking of this, “we have one option. It would mean changing some of the wards on the house.” 

The others looked at him in silence. “What, you mean Demon-Dee and Demon-Dumb?” Dean finally questioned. 

“We bring them in, have them around to help out.” He squirmed a little under the gaze of his brother and his father figures. “Look, they’re not exactly low-grade demons. They’ve got a lot of juice.” 

“Great,” Jim commented drily.

“You want to bring actual demons into your home,” Bobby frowned. 

“These are… um… special demons,” Jess grimaced. “They’re Lucifer loyalists, looking to fight Lilith.” 

“So?” Dean scowled. “I’m not hearing anything that’s screaming ‘hop on the demon train’ here Sammy.”

So much for the brief moment of brotherly unity. “No one’s hopping any trains. This is big, bigger than us. So we’re calling in some big guns who want to help us anyway.”

“Because of Lucifer!” Dean exploded. 

Sam’s temper – already short between Cas’ insults, Uriel’s lack of manners and a lack of coffee – snapped. “No one can be more uncomfortable with that connection than I am, Dean. So don’t you even start with that shit, because you have no idea what I went through. What even being in his presence is like, never mind having him on you. You do not get to play the injured party here.” He noticed Dean blanch, noticed his fist clench, but ignored it. “But if they can help with the angels and everything else then I’m willing to let these two demons – who I know, very well – be part of the solution. Temporarily. And then we alter the wards again when the whole thing is over.”

“I just can’t believe you’re so cavalier about working with demons, Sam,” Dean seethed. “After everything.” 

“No one’s cavalier, Dean,” he spat back. “I’m willing to do what needs to be done. Are you?” Sam turned around and left the room, walking out to the coffee shop. He couldn’t do this without coffee. 

Pastor Jim chased after him. “So,” he commented after they’d walked a few blocks. “Those are angels, huh?” 

Sam chuckled weakly. “Yeah. Not exactly what you’d expected, right?” 

“I guess I can see where God felt a need to make something else,” the priest admitted. He let himself fall silent for a while. “You know, I’d have thought that when you left your father would have learned something,” he said then. 

“How do you mean?” 

“I mean I’d have hoped he’d have seen that keeping such a tight leash on you, not allowing room for questioning or for different points of view or different ways of doing this, pushed you away. But – well, John wasn’t ever much for self-reflection. He was always right, no matter what. The fact that Dean was always the perfect soldier and you left, for him, was down to something being wrong with you rather than the fact that Dean remembered Mary, or personality differences between you, or the fact that he very much raised you differently and treated you differently.” Jim sighed. “When you left he clamped down even more on Dean, so Dean’s way of thinking got to be even more rigid.” 

Sam let himself grin a little bit. “Yeah, well.” 

“I’m not saying your father was right, Sam. I’m not saying Dean’s right. I am saying that Dean might not seem like it but he’s questioning, he’s trying to break out of your father’s mold a little bit. He is making the effort. For you.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “Yeah. I know. I get it. I just need to manage my expectations.” 

“There’s a lot he doesn’t know, Sam,” the priest pointed out quietly. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I mean, I guess I just had this idea in my head – this kind of fantasy, you know? How it would be, if we ever met up again. And I knew it was a fantasy. I knew it would never… it would never be that way. But I still dreamed. And it’s… well. It is what it is. I can’t change his mind, I can’t change his… his heart or whatever.” 

“He was willing to defend you against the angels.” 

“Sure. But as soon as I thought of a way to defend Anna that involved something he didn’t like it was right back to square one. Like I said, I just need to be more realistic about what I expect from him I guess.” He forced a smile as he held the door open to the coffee shop.

“It will be okay.” Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give up on him, Sam. Now that he knows you’re alive and are willing, he’s not going to give up on you.” 

Sam bit his lip. “I’m not sure he hasn’t, Jim.” 

*

Castiel readjusted quickly when he found himself blasted back to Heaven. Uriel was not so fortunate. “It was the Abomination,” his oldest and dearest friend – well, his oldest and dearest remaining friend – insisted as he staggered around, trying to regain his bearings. “I will shred his meat from his bones, Castiel.” 

“I suspect this has been done before, Uriel,” he replied. “Furthermore I’m certain that we were not banished by Sam Winchester. He stood before us the entire time and he neither cut himself nor did he have time to draw the sigil. It is my belief that the culprit must have been Anael.” 

Uriel glowered at him for a moment, but Castiel was uncowed. Uriel was, after all, his subordinate and not the other way around. “It may be as you say, brother. I did not care for his attitude – a monster like him has no right to turn up his nose at us. But you may be right. I can deal with him when this whole mess is over. Anael is the primary issue now.” 

Castiel frowned. “I believe that it is the artifact beneath the church and Lilith’s intentions with it that are the primary issue, Uriel. Anael was not able to be sensed by us except in a very vague sense; her Grace could not have been present.” 

“She cut it out and Fell,” the specialist recalled, rubbing at his vessel’s neck. It seemed strange how in Uriel the body still seemed to belong to the vessel, where Castiel already thought of Jimmy Novak’s body as his own. 

“What we sensed – what was activated or awakened or whatever you might want to call it – was simply the vestigial remains.” “It must have been awakened when Lilith began her campaign to take custody of the artifact.” Castiel tried not to contemplate cutting out one’s own Grace. The pain, the trauma that would cause – his entire being shuddered away from it. “That is the only reason that the two events would possibly be concurrent.”

Uriel acknowledged this with a single respectful nod. “She’s hardly the first angel to cut out her Grace and fall. The angel involved usually lives out a normal human life and dies.” 

“Not in this case. Someone or something wanted her angelic nature to re-awaken. She probably has no idea that she even is an angel, never mind what she did to earn God’s wrath.” 

The other angel gave a little laugh, low and dirty. “It’s not for us to question why she should be smote, Castiel.” 

“Of course not.” He glared. “It just seems strange that someone should be killed without knowing why she merited punishment.” 

“For now she’s nothing but a mud monkey. Who cares what they know?” He spread his hands wide. “It isn’t as though they’re capable of comprehending the divine will.” 

Castiel stepped in closer to his second. “Now who is skirting blasphemy?” 

Uriel smirked. “I will seek revelation until the banishment has run its course.” 

“Do that.” Castiel watched him go. 

While the banishment remained in place, Castiel sought out information on the Men of Letters. He had not paid much attention to the organization in the past, because they had not done much to draw the attention of angels and as a warrior his time was better spent on war. Evidently most other angels felt the same way, because he found very little information on the society. What he did find confirmed that they were fascinated by the supernatural and the occult, and that they concentrated on research and gaining knowledge for its own sake. Through this work they had acquired any number of artifacts of extreme importance and power, even some of the weapons of Heaven itself. He frowned. This should not have been. Such power should never touch mortal hands – although it appeared as though they made some effort to keep such items out of reach of human and demonic hands, as was the apparent case with the item in the church basement. 

The moment when the banishment was lifted felt like a band around his chest releasing. He immediately returned to Palo Alto, but found himself unable to get closer to the house than the front gate. The knowledge unexpectedly hurt. He had believed that he was making some headway, that the brothers were fond of him. At least Sam had seemed respectful. Now he would not allow him even up to the threshold.

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean’s number. “Heya, Cas,” Dean’s voice replied almost immediately. “How was your trip?” 

“Annoying and frustrating,” he informed. “I need to speak with you and your brother.”

“We’re not giving up Anna.” 

“You’ll change your mind.” 

“Not really.” 

He let out a little growl of frustration but bit it back. Dean was only human. He believed in his own rightness, and pushing him wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “You will change your mind of your own accord, Dean. Not mine. But that is not why I wished to speak with you. I wished to discuss the problem of the artifact near the church.” 

He could almost hear Dean’s grin through the phone. Strange how a human voice, with no visual input at all, could convey so much more than simple sound. “Well now, Cas, why didn’t you say so? I’ll be at the coffee shop in twenty.” 

“Twenty what, Dean?” He glared at the phone, willing his conversational partner to understand the depths of his annoyance. 

It didn’t seem to work. “Years, Cas. If I’m still alive in twenty years meet me at the coffee shop.”

“Dean, Heaven cannot wait twenty years for the Lilith problem to resolve itself. Bela Talbot may be on her way to –“ 

“It was a joke, Cas. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes at the coffee shop.” 

Castiel hung up, not entirely certain why the sound of Dean’s quiet laughter bothered him so much. 

Dean was at the coffee shop in eighteen minutes and thirteen seconds. He was joined by his brother and the dark-haired demon called Meg. Castiel frowned. “Why is there a demon involved with this meeting?” he demanded.

Dean grinned lazily, leaning back in his chair and stretching out. “Yeah, Sammy. You want to explain this one?” 

Meg looked up at Castiel through her lashes. In her human host it probably looked very alluring. Her true face gave it more of a leering effect that shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was. “Aw, Clarence. And here I was thinking you would be happy to see me after all we’ve been through together.” 

Castiel frowned. “We’ve been through one fight together.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “Think about how much more we’ve still got to come.” 

Dean rolled his eyes as Castiel glanced away and tried to understand why he suddenly felt warm. “Is she always like this?”

“Pretty much.” 

“Couldn’t we have brought the other one?” 

“Ruby’s worse. Besides, she’s decided she’s feeling protective of Anna.” Sam glared at Castiel, and the angel felt a moment of loss again. “Believe me, between Jess and Ruby there will be nothing getting to her.” 

Dean’s face grew contemplative. “You know, we could watch –“ He bent over. “Ow! Who kicked my shins?” 

Meg fixed Dean with a piercing look while Sam glowered. “Gross, Dean. That’s your sister-in-law,” the latter objected. “Try to focus without objectifying someone for like, five minutes, would you?” 

“Four minutes thirty seconds,” the blond bargained. Castiel hoped it was a joke. Meg was smirking. It was probably a joke, not that the angel knew what a demon would think constituted a joke. Why was he thinking about a demon’s sense of humor? “Okay, Cas,” Dean continued, still rubbing at one of his legs. “Why don’t you tell me what it is that you’ve found out?” 

Cas explained what he’d found out about the Men of Letters during his enforced time away. “I believe that whatever is under that church may be something that relates to Heaven.” Meg snorted and Sam coughed a little.

“So, uh, Pastor Jim was able to do some digging,” the latter informed. Castiel felt something touch his foot, then his leg. As Sam continued to speak he identified it as a foot. “It seems as though church records show that the priest who brought the item to Petaluma, who directed the construction of that particular vault, brought it up from a southern mission. The provenance of the artifact – which is never described, but they keep describing it as That Which Must Be Kept – is pretty murky but it seems like it was brought over from Spain during the colonial era.” Why would someone be rubbing their foot on his leg? And who was doing it? The foot was too small to belong to Sam. A moment’s contemplation showed that it was too small to belong to Dean, too. “Am I boring you, Cas?” “No!” 

The angel cleared his throat. “No. Not at all.” Meg showed no reaction on her face, no indication that she was the one doing it at all. “Please, continue.”

“Right. Well, the Spaniards seem to have taken the artifact from England during the suppression of the monasteries during the Reformation. Can you think of anything that might have been locked up in a monetary in England?”

He fixed Castiel with his stare. “No, not immediately,” he had to admit after a moment’s contemplation. 

“Records don’t really go back much farther than that. Apparently it was difficult to get the item out of England at the time.” He shrugged. “That’s what he was able to get, anyway.”

“The thing is,” Dean said, leaning forward, “we still don’t know how to move it or where to move it too.” 

“Shouldn’t it be returned to Heaven?” Cas suggested. “It does relate to killing angels, after all.” 

“But someone – whoever put it where it was placed – wanted it to be kept away from angels,” Meg argued. “In fact, they walled themselves up into a living tomb specifically so that it would be kept away from angels.” 

“And demons,” the angel scowled.

“I’m terribly hurt by your slight,” she sneered. “For whatever reason it was decided that angels couldn’t be trusted with it any more than my side could.”

“We are doing God’s work,” Castiel reminded her. “We get consent from our vessels – we cannot possess a vessel without consent. We are the ‘good guys’ here,” he declared, adding air quotes for emphasis. 

“Are you sure you’re doing God’s work?” she smirked, leaning forward. “When’s the last time you saw God? A hundred years ago? A thousand? Two?” She smiled. “I can see my God whenever I want, you know. Are you even sure that it was God who gave the order to cast Him into the Cage, or was it Michael?”

“It was God,” Cas growled, hand on his angel blade.

“Are you sure? Were you there? Did you hear the order with your own ears?” She laughed a little and leaned back in her seat. “Don’t worry, Clarence. I’m not trying to bring you over to the dark side, no matter how many cookies we have. I’m just telling you to stop it with the ‘we’re the good guys’ bullshit. I’m here, I’m helping you with a job that seems to be fairly high on the priority scale for you if you’re bringing these two together. And He sent us. So get off your high horse.” 

They were rescued from the awkward moment by Dean’s phone ringing. “Gordon,” he greeted, jaw tightening. He pulled the handset away from his face and put the instrument on speakerphone. 

“Hi, Dean,” the soul-sick hunter greeted. “Bet you didn’t think you’d be hearing from me again.” 

“I’ll admit it’s a bit of a surprise.” Castiel knew that Dean was nervous because he could sense his increased heart rate and respirations. His voice, however, betrayed none of this. “Last I heard you were somewhere in Florida.” 

“Yeah, I’ll admit that I’m kind of curious about how you managed that.” 

“Gordon, I didn’t manage anything. You drugged me. I was unconscious and dreaming about Megan Fox.” 

“Why would anyone name a fox Megan?” Castiel wondered aloud. 

“Oh. It’s you. Dean’s ‘angel.’ I’d like for you to know that after I’m done with Azazel’s unholy spawn I’m coming for you next.” He sounded no more emotional than if he were talking about traffic on the freeway. 

Meg looked at Sam. “Are we unholy?” 

He rolled his eyes. “’Fraid so.” 

“Does that mean I can stop going to church on Sundays?”

“Shut up, Meg. You only go to church on Sundays to steal from the collection plate anyway.” 

“And seduce seminarians. Or nuns. Whichever.” She winked at Castiel.

“Laugh it up, Hellspawn,” Gordon interjected, reminding them all of his presence. “But I’m sending you back where you came from.”

“You have no weapon that can hurt me,” Castiel informed him. “I’m an angel, you ass.” 

“Maybe I don’t,” Gordon admitted with a soft laugh. “But I’ll bet that Bela Talbot does.” The phone went dead. 

“Great,” Dean groaned. “He knows where the church is, he knows what some of us look like –“

“We should go home,” Sam suggested. “We need a plan. Castiel, can you figure out what kind of a container would be able to hold an item of this kind of power even under immense pressure? Meg, you –“ 

“I’m going to try to find a way of getting at Gordon Walker.” She grinned. It was not a kind look. “I like this kind of challenge.” 

“Don’t get yourself killed over it,” he counseled her. “We know he’s coming for us eventually.”

“Aw, Sammy,” Meg cooed. “I knew you’d warm up to your big sister eventually.” 

“Shut up, Meg,” he grumbled, spots of pink appearing in his cheeks. He left the coffee house. 

Dean got up to follow him, but Castiel put a hand on his arm. “Dean, wait.”

“Yeah?” The green eyes had gotten distinctly cooler since the others left. “What’s up, Cas?” 

“I wanted to talk to you about Anael.” He looked down at the table. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Cas. We’re not handing her over to you for execution.” His jawline hardened again. “That’s just all there is to it.”

“You don’t even know her crime, Dean!” 

“She came to us for help!”

“She came to Sam for help,” Castiel corrected. “She went to your brother for help, your brother and his new family, because she knew that because they are non-human themselves they would be more likely to take her in. She didn’t even know about you.” 

“She didn’t have any memories of being an angel,” Dean sighed, sitting back down. “She wouldn’t have known to seek out non-humans. I don’t know how she hooked up with the Brady Bunch there but it’s not like she went seeking out people with demon blood, okay? As far as she knew she was just a human who was having some problems.”

“It doesn’t matter, Dean. She’s still an angel, and now she knows she’s an angel.” He searched his mind for the right words and found that they weren’t there.

“So? If she doesn’t remember what she did, and she doesn’t have the Grace – the power – to do whatever it was that she did again, what are you really trying to accomplish?” Dean shook his head. “She’s just a scared, pretty girl whose entire life has been turned around. She’s being hunted, her family’s been killed – isn’t that enough?” 

“She disobeyed, Dean. An angel cannot disobey. There’s only one penalty for disobedience. I thought you would be more… I thought you would understand it better. All things considered.” He expected that Dean would understand the reference to his family and he was not disappointed. 

He did not expect Dean’s face to completely shutter. “You know what, Cas? You’re right. I do understand it. I understand how much I lost with blind obedience to a father who didn’t give a damn. I’m helping, but I ain’t helping for you or for Heaven. I’m helping because letting Lilith take over Heaven and Earth is a bad idea. Because I’m choosing to. From my own free will. Got it?”

Castiel got it.


	7. Tankards and Flagons and Snifters and Flutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a date. Sam moves a mountain. Castiel is moved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The first section of this chapter contains graphic heterosexual sex.

For all his big words to Cas, Dean couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the situation. He didn’t feel uncomfortable with helping Anna, the pretty redhead who managed to come up with strong, brave smiles despite finding out that she wasn’t even human and despite all of the absolute crap that her life had turned into over the past couple of months. But… Anael? An angel who willingly went against Heaven? That was a different matter entirely. Maybe she was cool, but Heaven was Heaven. Heaven meant the good guys, right? Meg might have given her little speech about how they really weren’t much different but at the end of the day good and sulfur didn’t often go hand in hand. 

And Anael had gone against Heaven, had disobeyed. She must have known the rules, known the penalties for turning her back on Heaven. For turning her back on her family. Castiel had used that same logic to try to sway Dean to his point of view. And he had to admit that the guy made a compelling argument. Sam had known the consequences for disobedience and abandonment just as much as Anael must have; neither could possibly expect any other outcome. Just as Castiel’s hands were tied, Dean’s hands had been tied and Sammy didn’t have any kind of right to be bitter or anything about what had happened. 

But that had been Anael. Anna was different. Anna was a young woman, just starting out in life. She was human, or something close enough to it, and Dean’s entire life had involved protecting humans from supernatural creatures. Angels technically counted as supernatural creatures. 

The conflict didn’t mean that he felt any better about being in Sam’s house. The people there were all nice enough he guessed, but they weren’t any more comfortable with him than he was around them. Jess softened toward him microscopically after he defended Anna, but he still didn’t exactly get warm and fuzzy vibes from her. The gang was back to talking about how to contain the artifact, whatever it might be, and had reduced their numbers to just Sam, Jess, Bobby, Meg, Jo, Jake and the scruffy geeky kid Andy. “We still don’t have any way of disposing of the artifact,” Sam growled in exasperation. Dean shook his head. Damn if the boy didn’t seem more inhuman when his voice got like that than he looked when his eyes turned all yellow. 

“Are you sure we have to get rid of it?” Meg challenged. “I mean, I’d think you of all people would be keen to have something on hand that could take out an archangel.”

Sam’s fist clenched. “Yeah, sure. There’s part of me that would like nothing better, you know? Keep myself safe from Him, keep all of us safe from all of them. But if I had something on hand that could kill an archangel, other people would know about it and then they’d come after it. I’ve got a family here, Meg. Jess, Jake, Andy, Dean - you think I want them to get caught in the crossfire of that kind of fight? Or if someone decided to go after Bobby or Pastor Jim because of it?” Jess put a hand on his back and his voice returned to a more normal tone and decibel level. “I can’t take that kind of risk. Of course it isn’t like there’s some kind of toxic waste dump for heavenly nukes.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rose into his hat. “No, there ain’t. Glad to know you’re thinking about the rest of us, boy. There’s plenty that wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not him, Bobby.” Sam offered a weak grin, and Dean felt most of the goodwill that had risen at Sam’s still considering him family evaporate at the negative reference to their father. “Anyway, taking out Lucifer would eliminate a major check to Lilith’s power in Hell. That’s not… that’s not in anyone’s best interest.”

“Quite the politician, aren’t you, Sammy?” Dean forced a grin and strode forward. 

Jess and Sam both glared, but Meg grinned. “Oh, Dean-o, you have no idea. Sammy’s a man of many talents. Anyway, I hear they’re making a submarine that should be able to reach the bottom of the Mariana Trench.” 

Jess’ eyes gleamed. “If the materials they’re using work, they would be perfect to make a curse box out of.” She grabbed a laptop – how anyone could tell whose laptop was whose around here completely escaped Dean’s understanding but he supposed it didn’t matter – and started typing. “We could at least stick a curse box into a box made from those materials,” she continued. “Or a curse box inside a curse box, just to get enough warding into the mix.” 

“We could build a fence around a fence, and then a fence around that fence, and then maybe a fence around that fence,” Andy muttered, and Jo snickered. 

“How are you going to get your hands on the materials again?” Dean queried. “I highly doubt that they’re just going to hand that stuff over out of the goodness of their hearts.” 

Jake grinned. “Hey, Andy – do the thing.” 

Andy sighed. “Dean, get us a round of beers.” 

Dean found himself standing up straighter. “Hey, that’s a great idea. I’ll go do that.” Part of him knew that he didn’t want to do this, but the rest of him shouted it down. He walked into the kitchen with a spring in his step, because getting beer for the people doing the planning was the right thing to do. He brought back enough beer for everyone and he made sure to open every bottle. He didn’t even mock the whole “craft beer” thing even though he usually hated Sam’s whole microbrew fetish, but right now he just wanted to get the beer for everyone. He wanted to do it because it made Andy happy – “Oh,” he said when the last beer had been distributed. 

“Yeah. It’s why I’ve tried to keep a low profile around you – I don’t want to do anything by accident, because you’re Sam’s brother.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s more complex than that. I can make you forget that you even did it, I can make you do more complex actions –“ 

Dean knew he’d gone pale. It wasn’t like he could control it. “Aren’t the others worried about it?”

“Doesn’t work on them. None of our powers do. I mean, they do.” He shrugged. “I can’t make Sam cluck like a chicken. I can make Jess cluck like a chicken and peck him.” 

“But you won’t,” Sam’s wife glared.

“Right. Sam can’t just blast one of us with his telekinesis, but he can pick up a book and hurl it at us and it’ll hurt. Or he can just punch us, which will hurt just as much if I think of making Jess cluck like a chicken.”

“That must have been awkward,” Dean forced himself to chuckle. 

“Let’s just say there were some inappropriate pranks when we all first got together after all of the excitement died down.” Meg snickered and Andy continued. “We’ve worked out the kinks. It’s why we can all live together, and the only way people like Scott or Lily could live with other people at all at first.” 

“They couldn’t hurt us,” Jake added. “Look, I’m feeling kind of useless here.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder with one massive hand. “You feeling up for a drink?” 

Dean considered. On the one hand, the guy wasn’t human. He was just as tainted as Sam, without the saving grace of being Dean’s brother to boot. On the other hand, he hadn’t asked for what had been done to him any more than Sam had, any more than Anna had. And Dean was getting ready to jump right on out of his skin. “Yeah, let’s head out.” 

Jake led them to a bar not terribly far from the house – close enough that driving wasn’t an issue, far enough to be discreet. “You serve?” Dean surmised. 

“Afghanistan,” the guy admitted. “I went to bed in my tent, with my unit, and woke up in this ghost town in South Dakota. Big Daddy Demon wanted the bunch of us to fight to the death or something. Sam saved us.” 

Dean felt his bile rise. “Yeah. Good of him.”

“It was. He didn’t have to. Could’ve just turned us loose, you know. But he knew the hunters would be after us, and for me – well, it wasn’t like the Army was going to take ‘kidnapped by demons’ as a valid reason for going AWOL.” The men shared a laugh. “He’s a good leader, though. We’re all proud of him, proud to be part of him. His family. Whatever.” 

Dean looked away. “Yeah. Well, he’s something else all right.” He looked around. The place was a bit more upscale than the usual Winchester haunt but that made sense. It was closer to campus, mostly catering to people affiliated with the college in some way. A waitress came over and they ordered beers and hot wings. “So what are your plans? You know, for the long haul?” 

Jake gave a shy smile. “I don’t know, man. We’ll see. It’s hard to get used to it, you know? I figured I’d be in the army for life. Instead I’m fighting something else, something different.” 

“Sam says you guys hunt sometimes.” “Yeah. Sometimes. Can’t ignore what’s in your own backyard, you know? We don’t do like you do, though. We’re more like Bobby Singer. We work out of a home base.” His eyes scanned the crowd briefly. “Ever think about staying in one place?” 

He’d wanted that, once upon a time. Sonny would have fought for him to have it, but he couldn’t leave the family. Couldn’t leave the unit. “Nah. Had a mission, you know?” Jake sighed, low and long. “I hear you.” 

Their waitress returned a little earlier than expected, carrying two beers for each of them instead of the one round they’d ordered. Dean raised an eyebrow and the young woman gave a sheepish smile. “The second round is from the ladies up at the end of the bar, right side,” she told them. “No strings, they said you just looked like a couple of handsome guys who could use a pick-me-up.” 

Dean shared a glance with Jake and checked out the women who had sent the beer. One was about five foot seven, with straight black hair in a reverse bob and bright blue eyes. She winked at him. The other, a tall, light-skinned Asian woman with dark lips, did not wink. “Whaddya think?” Dean muttered to his companion.

“Why not?” Jake shrugged. “Can’t hurt to talk to them.” 

As it happened Dean wanted to do more than talk with them, either of them really. Or both – Dean had never been terribly biased when it came to that sort of thing. He raised his glass in salute and let his lips curl in a slow and sensuous smile, the kind that most women (or at least the kind of woman who sent drinks to strange guys in bars) found welcoming. The women lost no time in approaching their table and sliding onto the elevated chairs they found there. “We wanted to thank you for the drinks,” Dean began. “Something like that doesn’t happen every day.” 

“Doesn’t it?” Blue-Eyes fluttered her lashes prettily. “With a face like that I have to say that’s surprising.” She held an impressively manicured hand. “The name’s Beth. This is Sariel.” Sariel smiled as Dean shook Beth’s hand. The palm was surprisingly callused, given the manicure and the polished speech. It would be rude to say anything of course. 

“I’m Dean,” he told her. “This is Jake.” Jake smiled. Sariel seemed to be shy and reluctant to make contact and that seemed fine with Jake. Whatever. Maybe he just wasn’t into girls. Or maybe he had someone at home. Maybe the woman’s stiff demeanor was a turnoff for him – Dean figured it was more of a challenge to get her to loosen up and enjoy herself but maybe Jake had enough challenges in his life. A couple of drinks soon turned into four or five, at least for most of them. Jake cut himself off after three, saying he had to work in the morning. Maybe Sammy had found his element, ha ha! 

Beth eventually wound up putting a hand on his arm, leaning in close and whispering, “I don’t suppose you feel like getting out of here?”

Dean did feel like getting out of there. It had been a while – maybe not compared to some guys, but Dean Winchester did not suffer through prolonged dry spells and sex was a healthy way to work out some of his frustrations. “You got a place?” he wanted to know. “It’s only I’m staying with my brother, and –“ 

She gave him a wicked smile. “I’ve got a place, baby,” she vowed. “Come on.” 

She threw some cash onto the table for both of them, grabbed Dean’s hand and tugged him toward the exit. Dean grinned at Jake, who laughed and shook his head. “Tell Sammy I’ll see him tomorrow,” he directed.

“See ya, Dean,” Jake dismissed, toying with his beer. Beth took him back to a hotel not terribly far from the bar. It wasn’t the Ritz but it was more than a few steps up from the usual Winchester bolthole, probably bug-free and completely lacking in unidentifiable stains on the walls or ceilings. Once they got back to the room Beth lost no time in making her intentions clear. She pushed him up against the wall and pressed her lips to his, slipping her tongue into his mouth with an insistent ferocity. His brain took a second to get with the program – he wasn’t used to women who were quite so aggressive. Not that he objected in the slightest – it felt good to know exactly what Beth wanted and how she wanted it. 

He cradled her face in his hands and let her lick into his mouth until he couldn’t taste the hot wings anymore, only the lingering flavor of her IPA and her. Her hands weren’t idle as she explored his mouth. She grabbed his hair, tugging gently enough that it was a turn-on before running her nails down the back of his neck to the collar of his shirt. His hands moved up to reciprocate, but she moved them to her shirt. Okay – she didn’t want him touching the hair. That was fine, her hair was nice. She’d probably spent a lot of time and effort on it and didn’t want it wrecked. He let her guide his hands to her shirt, where he spent his energy unbuttoning her blouse. Her breasts, he observed even with her bra on, were magnificent. He moved his mouth to nuzzle her neck as his hands began to massage them. She seemed to enjoy that, eyes half-closing as her head tilted back. Her hands began to tug at the buttons on his flannel shirt. She might have popped a button or two but he didn’t care – he had extras in his duffel, it wasn’t like his clothes didn’t take a beating anyway. They ultimately both shrugged out of their shirts and her eyes lit on his tattoo. “Pretty,” she commented, finger tracing the ink.

His cheeks pinked up. Cas had healed his, so that it looked like it had been there for a couple of months instead of scabbed and gross. “Thanks. It’s a team thing, you know?” 

She licked the tattoo, tracing the intricate patterns with the tip of her tongue. He hadn’t known that was one of his kinks. The things you learned about yourself even at thirty, he supposed as his body warmed under her ministrations. He let out a little hiss of appreciation as he reached around to unhook her bra. It was a lovely piece of lingerie; it would be a shame to see it get ruined. She groaned as he took her left breast into his mouth, lavishing the perfect nipple with attention. Dean was a skilled lover, having distracted himself with many women in many cities, and he didn’t neglect the right while adoring the left. And honestly, he liked the foreplay at least as much as he liked the main event. He liked hearing the sounds his partner made, seeing the look on her face and knowing that he’d put it there. Knowing that he’d made someone happy, or at least content, for a few hours at least. So much of his job involved sadness and pain – it wasn’t like he got to find out about a job before people died, after all, and it wasn’t like he was bringing people’s dead relatives back to life – that he relished the moments when he could just wallow in the moment and enjoy making someone happy for a little while. 

And he was making Beth happy. She let him know she was ready for more by tugging him toward the bed. He moved a hand toward the button of her jeans. “This okay?” he asked her. 

“It’s almost necessary at this point,” she groaned. He grinned and removed her shoes – his own boots and socks as well – before slowly removing her jeans. A little bit of exploration with his fingers and he found what he was looking for. Beth was already fairly wet, but Dean thought he could do better. Dean knew he could do better. He knelt down between her thighs and focused all of his attention on the space he hoped to explore with another appendage later. At first he limited himself to just his tongue, using every trick he’d ever learned in all his years of pleasing women to produce those mewls, whimpers and groans that he so desperately needed. Only then did he add a finger, then two, to the mix. 

And Beth, bless her soul, wasn’t content to just lie back on the end of the bed and take it. No, she leaned back on her arms and held her head up, maintaining eye contact with Dean the whole time. That was what did it for Dean, really. It was the whole sensory experience. He got to watch her face as she bit her lip, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a shout or a groan as the flush spread over her face. He got to inhale the scent of her, not quite like anyone else. He got to savor her taste and he got to feel her clench around his fingers when she finally came with a low, shuddering moan. She leaned her head back then, only for a moment, and Dean grinned with satisfaction. 

“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes,” she observed. And then she rose on what must have been shaky legs indeed and removed his jeans and underwear in one motion. Dean gasped at the sudden, very welcome sensations of cold air and liberty on his previously trapped cock, but it didn’t get to spring freely long. The dark-haired beauty wrapped one of her oddly callused hands around it and jerked gently. “I need you, Dean.” 

“You’ve got me,” he pointed out. “How do you want me?”

“Lie down,” she instructed, reaching into the nightstand with her other hand. Once the condom was retrieved she took it out of the wrapper with a practiced hand and put it over him as he lay on his back. “Relax,” she told him, straddling him and taking him into her. 

He groaned at the feeling of warmth surrounding him. Beth didn’t seem to want to build up to anything. She set a fast, almost punishing pace that Dean was more than happy to match – she knew what she wanted and he was happy to give it to her. Once the rhythm was established, though he brought his hand over to her clit and rubbed gently to give some additional stimulation. The effect was explosive. She’d been enjoying the ride before – now her back arched, and her cries of pleasure grew loud enough that the guy in the next room felt compelled to bang on the wall. 

Dean wasn’t a clock-watcher. It was over when it was over and both were sated; she climbed off of him and tucked herself under the covers. He disposed of the condom and did the same, holding her close as he dozed off. 

At least, he’d only intended to doze off. His eyes next opened in the bright light of morning and they didn’t open in the hotel room in which he’d closed them. He also wasn’t in bed anymore. He was in a chair, and he’d been trussed to the chair pretty thoroughly. Someone had very helpfully thrown a towel over his nether regions to hide the fact that he was still very naked, though. 

Beth was still there, or at least her face was Beth’s. Her hair was different, long and ash-blonde. She’d found her clothes, more upscale than she’d been wearing the night before. She wasn’t alone, though. She stood about two feet away from a face Dean had hoped he wouldn’t need to meet up with again. 

“Howdy, Dean,” Gordon intoned. “I see you’ve met my friend Bela.” 

*

Sam hadn’t thought much of it when Jake took Dean out to a bar. He knew his brother was uncomfortable in the house, uncomfortable around him, and probably wasn’t going to be terribly comfortable getting into a technical discussion of the relative tensile and compressive and shear strengths of the various metals used in deep-sea engineering. Not that Dean was incapable of understanding the conversation, of course, his eyes were just more likely to glaze over as soon as any kind of technical jargon got unpacked than they were to light up at the possibility of a new feat of engineering. If things had turned out differently, the thought sadly, Dean would have made a fine engineer. But things hadn’t turned out differently, and Dean’s life wasn’t the only one that had been screwed up by everything that had happened. He needed to focus now. So he bade them goodbye and made a note to thank Jake for taking his brother out and letting him blow off some steam. 

Maybe he got a little nervous when the pair didn’t return by the time most of the rest of the household went to bed – but then, Jake didn’t exactly keep nine-to-five hours. And Dean – well, it had been a long time since Sam had needed to live with Dean, but Dean had always been the kind of guy to make a night of it. There was absolutely no reason to worry. Sam was just being paranoid. When two o’clock rolled around and found him nibbling on his fingernails with only Meg for company he decided that he didn’t care if he was just being paranoid, and he didn’t care if the demon saw it. “I don’t like it either,” she agreed. “Something’s up.” 

At two twenty-three, someone staggered up the steps to their door and collapsed against it. Sam sprang to life. Meg wasn’t far behind, but they heard someone fumbling with a key. Sam threw the door open only to have Jake fall into the living room. “Sam,” he gasped. His friend looked awful. He’d been cut by something, something sharp and non-serrated, but his assailant hadn’t stopped with a few slashes to his arms. They’d bashed his face but good, leaving it barely recognizable. 

“Jake!” he greeted, lifting the strongman in his arms. “What the hell?” 

“Angel.” Talking clearly hurt.

“An angel did this?” Meg demanded, following as they carried the man up to his own bedroom. “You’re kidding me.”

Sam snorted. “You remember Luci when he got pissy.”

“Calling him Luci was the best way to piss Him off, jackass. And He’s not just any angel. Was it Clarence, Jake?” She met his eyes with an eerie intensity. He shook his head. “Another angel then. One you’ve met before?” Another shake of her head. “Does the angel have Dean?” “No,” Jake croaked. “But maybe the other one.” 

Sam didn’t get the kind of white-hot rage that his father and brother did, the kind that made him just lash out at the nearest victim no matter what. His rage burned cold – which, he supposed, made sense – and it gave him a terrible focus. “Dean is in danger?” It was less of a question than a statement, but Jake replied with a nod anyway and closed his eyes. “And angels are involved.” Another nod. 

Meg’s lips twitched into a parody of a smile. “Give ‘em Hell, Sammy.” 

He did not rush out and deal with the situation immediately. The first thing that he did was go to Bobby and Pastor Jim, and to Jess. He needed people who were good with first aid, or maybe with at-home surgery. Jake needed help and he needed it fast. None of them were happy about being woken up but they jumped right in when Sam told them what was going on. Ruby, too, volunteered to lend a hand. Her knowledge of witchcraft from her days among the living would be useful in helping Jake. Ruby did love to be useful. 

Sam stalked outside, Meg running along behind him. He ignored her – if she wanted to come along that was great. If not – well, maybe tangling with angels wasn’t in a demon’s best interests anyway, even if she was Lucifer’s most favored. He dialed Castiel’s phone number only to have it go to the default voice mailbox. His rage increased, but he bowed his head and focused his mind for prayer. “Castiel,” he called, putting as much power as he could into the words. “I know you can hear me because you told me so. Dean is in danger and it’s one of your own who put him there. Come clean up your mess.” 

He heard the flap of wings before he even raised his head. “You should treat me with more respect,” Castiel growled. “You may be out of Hell now, but I can put you right back in.”

“Are you going to sit there and posture or are you going to do something about the serpent in your ranks, you impotent sap?” Meg hissed from behind Sam’s left elbow. 

Castiel looked at her. The contempt Sam expected – if a half-breed like him was worthy of loathing how much worse must she not be? – never materialized. “Meg. An angel cannot put Dean in danger. He is the Righteous Man. He is to be protected.” 

“Because it’s never happened before. Because my father wasn’t a demonized fallen angel,” she sneered. “Because Lucifer didn’t turn His back on His orders. Or Anael, for that matter. Or Gadreel, still sitting upstairs in his solitary cell, never to see or hear from another creature until the end of time itself.” She gave a deceptively sweet smile. 

“They are… they are outliers,” he insisted, squinting his eyes. 

Sam looked from angel to demon and back again. _You have got to be kidding me_ , he groaned. “Whatever. Your angelic Spider Georg attacked one of our own tonight. He banished them and escaped with his life, but only barely.”

“How did he know they were an angel?” Castiel demanded eagerly. “How did he know that they weren’t a demon pretending to be an angel?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Sam pointed out. “And maybe, I don’t know, heal him while you’re freaking at it.” 

“Sam –“

“I get that we’re all too dirty to touch but, goddamn it, this is your mess, because you couldn’t keep your house in order. You can damn well get a little dirty to help a guy who never did you any harm and only tried to help.”

“Sam –

“ “No. You don’t get to try to wiggle out of this one with ‘it is forbidden’ or any bullshit like that. You choose to do the right thing or not. It’s your freaking choice, Cas. You don’t get to hide behind orders.” 

“Sam!” Cas shouted. “I would be happy to meet with the young man, but I cannot access the house,” he continued in a more normal tone of voice.

For half a second, Sam felt guilty. Then he remembered why he shouldn’t. “Yeah, do you remember why? You want to kill someone who lives there.” 

Cas solemnly tilted his head to the side. “The protection of the Righteous Man and the mission to protect the artifact supersede the mission to retrieve Anael. I recognize that you have no real reason to trust my motivation here. Therefore.” He shifted his arm and a silvery-looking blade appeared in his hand. He handed it, hilt first, to Sam. “This is the only weapon that can kill an angel. I am handing it to you for the duration that I am in your home, so that I may speak with the man who was hurt.” 

Sam’s hand clenched around the hilt of the weapon reflexively while he blinked. “Um. Okay.” This was completely unexpected, and it took some of the wind out of his sails. He still didn’t trust it, not completely. After all, Castiel could teleport, he could knock Sam out with a touch, he could do a lot to achieve his aims. But Sam wasn’t exactly helpless even without the blade. “Give me a second.” He stalked back into the house and drew a quick alteration to the markings on the door that would allow Castiel to enter. They could be erased as soon as he left. 

Meg led the way to Jake’s room. Sam followed, angel blade at the ready. “How is he?” he asked of his wife, mostly to avoid having to look at the angel. 

“He’s in bad shape,” she admitted. “He can’t say much, we can’t get much detail about where Dean might be.” “Let me closer,” Castiel demanded, stepping through the throng. He raised two fingers and touched them to Jake’s temple. The former soldier stiffened for a moment and grimaced in pain. Sam watched as his bones re-assembled themselves under the bruised skin, cuts knitting back together like they’d never been opened. Castiel stepped back as Jake pulled himself into a sitting position. 

“Holy crap,” Jake breathed shakily.

“Angels do not crap,” Cas informed him with a straight face. “We are multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent. We do not excrete.”

Sam glanced between Jess, Ruby and Meg while Bobby folded his lips shut and Jim tried to hide his mouth with his hand. Meg grinned. “I think you just made a joke, Clarence!” 

“Perhaps. Tell us what you know.”

Jake nodded, and he spun a tale of being at the bar when they were approached by two women who seemed friendly. Well, one of the women seemed friendly, especially toward Dean. The other seemed stiffer, kind of shy and maybe not as into it as Beth was – that was the girl who was all into Dean – but I figured she was Beth’s wing woman, right?” He gave a bitter little laugh. “Guess I was more right than I knew, huh?” 

“What was the name of the ‘wing woman,’ Jake?” Cas urged gently, placing a hand on his arm. Sam bristled at the unnecessary contact but the angel didn’t seem to be making a move, just trying to offer some comfort for once.

“Sariel. She called herself Sariel. I’m sure it was a fake name –“

“The name is a real angel’s name,” Cas admitted sourly. “I know her. We can summon her to try to find where they’ve taken Dean.” 

“Did she say anything else, Jake?” Jess urged. “Anything at all?” “She told me that Gordon Walker was going to be pleased to get his hands on Dean Winchester so quickly and with so little mess. I wasn’t anything but a loose end to her.” Jake’s face screwed up with bitterness, distaste. “Man, she didn’t even see me as a real fight until I punched her in the face.” 

“You’ve got demon blood in you, Jake,” Ruby told him, stroking his face gently. “It doesn’t matter to them how helpful we are, we’re never going to be anything but dirt to them. Even those few drops are enough to damn us in their eyes. And even if you could pull it out somehow, you’d still never be more than a lowly human.” She sneered at Cas. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” The demon left the room.

“I’m not – I’m not like her,” Castiel insisted, looking away.

Sam’s hand, the one not holding the angel’s short sword, shook. Dean was missing, Gordon Walker had him, and it was like his two visions had merged to make one terrible, nauseating reality. “Okay. Look, Jake. What can you tell us about… Beth, was it?” 

“She was real into Dean. Um, white, blue eyes, short dark hair, paid cash. Just threw the wad onto the table like it wasn’t even a thing.” He paused. “She had a bit of jewelry on her, too. Pendants here and there, charm bracelets, some fancy-looking rings.” 

Bobby frowned and grabbed his phone. “Did one of the rings look anything like this?” He scrolled through his pictures until he found what he was looking for. 

“Yeah, maybe. Why?” Jake blinked. 

“I might have sold it to her. Only her name wasn’t Beth, it was Bela. As in Bela Talbot. If she’s hooked up with Gordon Walker and they’ve got an angel on their side, then we’re all in a heap of trouble.” The older hunter scratched his beard. “This ain’t good, boys.”

“All right,” Sam sighed, trying to keep his stomach from rebelling. “Okay. We need to come up with a plan. And we need to protect that church.” 

“I believe that our best bet is to contact Sariel,” Cas insisted. “She may know where the other two are holed up, and I can deliver her up for Heaven’s justice. There may be others.” He glanced at Meg. “It has happened before.” 

Of course. It was okay when it came from a real demon. Now was not the time for bitterness. There was nothing he could do about Cas’ attitude, and there might still be something he could do to help Dean. “Right. Let’s… um, there’s a lecture hall at school, it’ll be empty at this time of night. We can use that.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. 

A handful of them moved over to the school in silence, smaller numbers meaning less likelihood of catching the attention of campus security. Sam and Cas went, but they brought Meg and Bobby along with them for added security. Castiel drew the elaborate summoning circle on the floor in chalk while Sam filled a brass bowl with the appropriate ingredients. Castiel chanted the summoning and Meg ignited the contents. The combination of spices and herbs went up in an exceptionally unappetizing puff of smoke and then before them stood the person who could only be Sariel. 

Her dark lips pursed when she saw Sam, Meg and Bobby but when she saw Castiel her eyes widened. “Castiel,” she gasped. “I am surprised to see you with such… such filth.” 

Cas’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “You knew that our orders were to work with Sam Winchester,” he reminded her, and there was no mistaking the undercurrent of danger to his tone. 

“That does not require fraternization, sir,” she retorted. “Discretion is mine as the garrison commander,” he snapped, stepping closer to her. “I command the mission. Not you. Where were you tonight?” “Not consorting with demons,” she answered with a glance at Meg. 

“No? Only with the humans who do their work for them, then.” He raised an eyebrow. “We have a witness who placed you at the scene.” 

“That abomination couldn’t have survived,” she scowled. “That abomination sent your sorry ass back to Heaven,” Sam spat back. “He’s capable of more than you can possibly imagine.” 

Castiel glanced at him. “Sam is correct. It was wrongful and unnecessary for you to assault Jake Talley. Why are you working with Bela Talbot?” 

“Do not you think that such an artifact belongs in Heaven’s custody, Castiel?” she asked him. “Do you think that the power to slay an archangel should be anywhere near where a mud monkey could access it?” 

Meg drew her head back. “So you want to give it to Lilith?” She looked at Sam, who shrugged. 

Cas rolled his eyes. “Just tell me where Dean Winchester is being held and I will ask Zachariah to be lenient with you.” 

Sariel laughed. “Oh come on now, Castiel. You don’t believe that I’m the only angel who would see the final battle waged without releasing Lucifer?” 

“What do you mean?” Sam would always be proud of the way that his voice did not shake even a little bit on that question.

“I mean –“ She was probably planning to divulge more, but instead of words light too bright to look at spilled forth from her eyes.

“Shut your eyes!” Castiel bellowed even as Sam covered his eyes and ducked his head, grabbing Bobby and pulling his head down. When he couldn’t see the glow anymore he looked up. Sariel’s corpse lay on the ground, sightless. The charred outline of a pair of wings spread out behind her. 

Uriel loomed over where she’d stood, bloody angel sword in his hand. “I thought you were in danger, Castiel,” he explained calmly. “I acted to defend you.” 

*

Castiel met Uriel’s eyes. He wanted to stab his second-in-command. He’d never felt the urge to murder a fellow angel before, never felt the kind of rage that might lead him to just reach out and take the life of another being outside of the heat of battle. Now he found himself gritting his teeth and handing his blade to Sam again. Sam accepted the burden wordlessly. “We needed information that Sariel had,” he growled. “Without her intelligence our odds of finding the Righteous Man alive and completing our mission decrease dramatically.” 

“Brother, I cannot hold this discussion with those… stains… in the room.” The junior angel gave a gentle smile and stepped back, eyes flicking to Meg and to Sam.

“Return to Heaven,” Cas ordered, fists clenched so tightly his palms bled. “Await revelation until you are summoned. Do. Not. Leave. Do I make myself abundantly clear, Uriel?” 

“Perfectly, sir.” Uriel flew away. 

The remaining quartet exchanged glances. “I apologize,” he informed the others. “I did not expect that to happen.” 

“I can see that,” Bobby drawled. “Only thing is now we’ve got a bit of a mess here and a pretty girl lying dead on the podium.” 

Sam shifted his weight. “We should go.” 

“We should go,” Meg agreed quickly, and disappeared. 

Castiel put a hand on Bobby’s arm. “Someone will find the body, I assume?” “Oh, sure. When they show up for the first class on Monday.” Sam grimaced. “I can, uh, I can take her somewhere. It’s not a problem.” He hefted the corpse in his arms, not seeming to notice the blood, and disappeared.

Castiel hadn’t known that Sam had learned to teleport. From the look on Bobby’s face, it wasn’t something that had come up in conversation very often with him either. 

He flew with the scholar back to the house where Azazel’s children dwelt. Jess was moving around the kitchen while Ruby, Meg and a thin, red-haired woman sat in the living room. As soon as the men appeared in the room the demons sprang to their feet. The woman, then could only be Anael. It felt strange, meeting his former commander in this alien, reduced form. In her true form Anael had dwarfed him. Now she stood before him, the tattered vestiges of her Grace gathered around her soul like half-rotten threads. Sam Winchester had more Grace left in him than this woman had, but the memory of who and what she had been still left its imprint on her soul. “Anna,” he greeted, using her human name. She was, for all intents and purposes, human now.

“Castiel.” She met his eyes fearlessly, just as she always had.

“You remember.” How much did this change?

“Bits and pieces. It’s coming back slowly. I didn’t remember you specifically until I saw you.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re here to bring me to face ‘justice.’” 

“I promised Sam that you would be left alone until the matter at hand is dealt with.” He frowned at the twist to her mouth, to her tone. Angels were not supposed to express bitterness. “You will have to answer for your crime eventually, Anael. You know this.” 

Ruby’s hand slipped into hers. It was a human gesture, the way this hellion touched her body in this way. An angel should not have tolerated contact with a demon, never mind such an intimate touch. And to have such a defensive bent to it - “You don’t get to touch her,” the demon hissed. 

Well that was simply beyond anything that had ever been witnessed by a celestial being before. Even Lucifer was not loved by his minions. Were demons even capable of love? “I don’t make the rules.” He let his eyes slide away, telling himself that he was repulsed, finding them drawn to Meg instead. “You did, however, disobey.” 

“In what?”

“Excuse me?”

“In what did I disobey? And whom exactly did I not obey? Can you answer that, or are you just going to execute me based on the idea that all orders are equal and all orders are just?” 

Castiel wasn’t watching Anael, but Meg, and Meg smirked. 

“Our orders come from God, Anna.”

“Have you seen Him?” She snorted. “Of course you haven’t. Only four angels ever did, and neither of us was among them. The truth is that you have no idea where the orders come from. You have no idea if the person giving you the orders is getting them from a legitimate source or if they’re making them up for their own purposes.” 

“Angels do not make up orders, Anna,” he seethed, stepping toward her. “Unless they’re apostates. Like you.” 

“Right. So you didn’t go to get ‘information’ from an angel who went rogue tonight.” She nodded, arms crossed across her chest. “And what happened to her, Castiel?”

“Uriel slew her,” he admitted quietly. Now he examined the floor. 

“Did he?” She didn’t sound questioning, however her words were phrased. “And did you give him the order?” He didn’t answer, but she didn’t seem to require an answer. “So he created his own order.” 

“Before he acted to _defend me_ from what he believed was an imminent attack,” Castiel disclosed, emphasizing the reality of the situation to defend his subordinate, “Sariel intimated that there might be other angels involved.”

“I’m sure there are,” she smirked. “Angelic ranks are not so unified as you believe, Castiel.” Her features softened for a moment. “You’re a good soldier, brother. A good angel. I hate to think of you being drawn into something, or against something, that goes against you.” 

He jerked his head up. “I don’t require your pity.” 

Her features hardened. Ruby’s darkened. “That’s right. I almost forgot. I’m just apostate trash.” The former angel gave a humorless laugh. “I’ll spare you my presence.” She turned to return to her room, followed by Ruby. 

Bobby’s eyes followed them. “You think you might have phrased that a little differently, Feathers?”

He wondered what the vaguely sick feeling in his gut might be. Angels weren’t prone to shame, or at least weren’t supposed to be prone to shame. “She is a fugitive from Heaven, Bobby. The matter is out of my hands.”

Meg sat back down. “Good to know where you stand, I guess.” 

“I stand on the ground.” “Not on a cloud?”

“A cloud is made of condensed water. That would be impractical.” 

The corners of her lips twitched. “So. How do we go about finding dear old Dean-o? Ruby knows a spell – I’ve seen her use it – but someone had to go and piss off Ruby’s girlfriend, so I don’t think we’ll be able to get her cooperation anytime soon.” 

Castiel tried not to flinch at the appellation. Anael was gone, Anna was human now and humans did...things with demons all the time. 

Bobby harrumphed. “Let me see what I brought with me. I might be able to dig something up.” 

Sam returned from his mission not long afterward. “Did you take care of the remains properly, Sam?” Cas demanded as soon as he came in from the kitchen. Why he’d chosen to materialize there instead of the living room escaped the angel. “She was an angelic vessel, and deserves respect.” 

“No, Cas, I dumped her body into a ravine where I know some hungry coyotes.” He moved toward the stairs, shirt covered in blood. “Where’s Ruby? I’m pretty sure she might be able to help us dig up something on where Dean is.” 

“I pointed that out to the tree-topper,” Meg reminded them all. “Unfortunately he mouthed off to Anna, so Ruby’s trying to calm her down.” 

Hazel eyes glared at Castiel. “Really, Cas?” 

The angel failed to see how his words could be construed as causing as much trouble as people seemed to believe. He had a job to do. “Blaming me for angering a demon is not going to get your brother found any faster. We need an effective plan.”

Sam’s lips pursed for a moment. “Okay. First things first – I’m going to shower and get some of this blood off of me. It’s starting to get itchy. Then we’ll see what we can come up with?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at the Winchester. “Is your brother’s life not worth some itchy skin?” 

Sam stepped into his space. “I’m not the one that lost our two best leads, Cas. Going out and finding Dean is going to involve leaving the house and interacting with the public. Which means being seen. By humans. Who will be distressed by visible blood on my clothing and person. Now I’m going to go shower and change, and you’re going to sit there.” His eyes had gone curiously flat, as had his voice. “Don’t try and stop me. You are not my father.” He stepped backward once, then turned around and walked up the stairs

. “He gets like that when you push sometimes,” Jess told him softly from the doorway, once Sam was safely upstairs. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles. “The blood on him and getting itchy like that – it’s kind of a trigger. He, uh, he’ll scratch until he loses skin. Which doesn’t, you know, make it any better.” 

“Yeah, well, Clarence playing Johnny Winchester probably didn’t help,” Meg chimed in.

“I wasn’t ‘playing’ anything,” Castiel snapped, glaring at the women. “I was simply trying to keep him focused on the important task at hand. We are all supposed to be working toward the same goal, and he claims to love his brother, but everything I say causes offense!”

“You’re used to being the commander and having subordinates,” Meg suggested, approaching with a cocky walk and tilt to her head. “You’re used to being part of a hierarchy.” 

“As is he.” 

Jess snorted. “He was used to being the bottom of the hierarchy when he was with his father,” she confirmed, sitting down on the couch. “It’s true. And I get that an angel isn’t going to see someone like him as anything like an acceptable or equal partner. But he’s not in a hierarchy here, and he likes that.”

“But he doesn’t have that luxury!” Castiel insisted. “His place is fighting this war, fighting Lilith. It’s his destiny, and however much he may not like it he cannot escape it. It will always find him, one way or another. And he is what he is – he’ll always be at the bottom.”

“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you, Clarence?” Meg purred in his ear. “You cloudhoppers really just hang around upstairs and ignore everything that happens outside of your narrow little sphere even though you know damn well it’s going to bite you in the ass – it wants to bite you in the ass, it’s engineered to bite you in the ass.” Even through his growing uneasiness Castiel spared a moment to wonder what masticating gluteal muscles had to do with Heaven and Hell. “Sam has fought Lilith before. And not as rear dog, either.” 

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Jess confirmed. “But think about it, Castiel. He was created to lead demon armies and he was down there for two centuries. He didn’t just pop out of Hell suddenly with new abilities, he had trained with them.” 

He swallowed – a human gesture, and where he’d picked that up he had no idea. “Perhaps I have been… dismissive of his ability,” he admitted. “I am unaccustomed to interacting with humans, but that does not excuse the way I have assigned him to a role as though I am his commander.”

Meg rewarded him with a big smile, sharp as glass. “There ya go, Clarence. I knew you had it in you.” 

Castiel had not known he had it in him. He was the commander. He had been in command of his garrison since Anael fell. Zachariah had given him this mission, had directed Castiel to involve the boys and to bring them together. In the eyes of Heaven, they were under his command. Both Winchesters, however, had made it abundantly clear that they did not view him as their commander nor themselves as Heaven’s to command. And command only worked if those being commanded accepted the commander. Could a mission work – could a mission be successful – without a clear chain of command and structure? He would find out.

Sam returned from his shower relatively quickly; his skin was pink from scrubbing and his wife looked at him with concern. He brought Bobby Singer with him. “All right,” the younger hunter declared with a long sigh. “I’m going to try a scrying.” 

“Bela Talbot will have already thought of that,” Bobby scowled, putting a stack of books onto the coffee table. The sun was already coming up over the horizon. “She’s more than a little bit of a dabbler when it comes to the occult, you know. She gets a lot of her tips from the other side.” 

“Necromancy?” Castiel recoiled.

“Talking boards, stuff like that.” The older human shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it. But she’ll know ways to protect against scrying, Sam. This ain’t her first rodeo.”

“Yeah. I know. How often does she have to deal with scrying from a freak who shares blood with the victim and has the power of Hell behind him though?” He offered a faint grin. “It’s not the only thing we’re going to try, though, is it, Bobby?”

His cheeks pinked up behind the beard. “No it ain’t. I might’ve made a call to a psychic friend of mine while I was upstairs. She might’ve done a reading for me, talked to the other side herself.” He glanced at Castiel. “Don’t ruffle your feathers. She reached out to spirits who had a blood connection in life to Dean.” 

“Dad,” Sam gasped. Castiel found himself astonished at how young the man could look in that moment.

“At first. His response was that you freaks should leave his boy alone – all of you freaks,” he added with a look at Castiel. The angel did not feel particularly hurt by John Winchester’s condemnation. He had not commanded Castiel’s respect in life, not as a man or parent, and in death his censure could not pain him. 

Sam, however, was another matter. “He did not know you,” he offered, placing a stiff hand on Sam’s back.

Jess glanced at him quizzically as she took up Sam’s hand. “No,” she agreed. “No, he didn’t.”

“Well, apparently another spirit felt differently. She identified herself as ‘Dean and Sam’s mother’ and Pam said she unleashed such a stream of language on John that it made her blush and believe me – Pamela don’t blush easy. So anyway – once she chased your daddy away she said she couldn’t get into the building where they’re holding your brother but she could get a sense of it. It’s brick, it’s two stories and it ain’t got a lot of windows. It’s about two miles from the hotel where he and Bela went after the hotel.” 

“Any idea which direction?” Jess demanded, reaching for a laptop. 

“She didn’t say. She did say that both of the people with Dean as near as she can tell seem to be human, but that she can’t get near him. They know what they’re doing in terms of keeping out ghosts.” Bobby’s lips twitched. “She had a message for you, too, Sam.”

The boy swallowed. “Me?” “Yeah. You, dumbass. Says she has no idea how you got to be so darn tall.” The tension visibly drained from Sam’s shoulders, radiating out like heat draining from a sidewalk. “Says you didn’t get it from her side of the family, anyway. But she kind of likes it. And, uh, she said to tell you she’s proud of you.” 

Castiel would not have expected Sam’s reaction to be a complete loss of color. “Is Pamela – is she sure it was her?”

“Sure as she can be. And she can be pretty sure, kid,” he added gently as Jess pulled Sam in for a close cuddle.

“So. We have a description and a radius. Sort of.” “It’s a starting point,” Meg shrugged. 

Jess’ fingers tapped on the keys. “Well, Jake was pretty sure that Dean and Bela walked to the hotel. There are three within a reasonable stumbling distance of the bar and they’re all right in the same little cluster here.” She turned the laptop around so they could all see the map. “I can search,” Castiel offered.

“What, without narrowing it down?” Meg raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Castiel flew to the cluster of hotels, alighting on the roof and extending his senses. He could not sense the Righteous Man, it was true, so he picked up his phone and dialed it. “Sam,” he said. “I cannot sense him.” 

“They’ve probably got ways to hide themselves from you,” came Sam’s voice. “It’s not like they didn’t know that he was working with an angel.” He cleared his throat. “Can you… can you normally sense other things? Like, uh. Like angels usually smell like ozone and stuff – can you sense electricity and stuff?” 

Cas hadn’t really thought about himself as having a scent, and he hadn’t thought about whether or not he could sense electricity. “I suppose I can,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “I’m a wavelength of energy, I can sense other energy –“

“Good, great,” Sam interrupted. “Awesome. Now – I don’t know how far your senses extend. Can you maybe… feel... where there’s a dead spot?” 

“There!” Castiel couldn’t help but bark in excitement. “Exactly two miles to the north.”

“Do you want to bring me in with you? They were working with Sariel, they might know the banishing sigil.”

The angel considered. He did not want to wait. At the same time, the abomination – the Winchester – had made a very valid point. If he staged a rescue and was banished the miscreants would simply disappear, taking their ill-gotten prisoner with them and making all of their previous hard work pointless. He hung up and teleported back to the house, where Sam was staring at the phone in annoyance. “I will bring you with me,” he informed the taller man. “Grab whatever weapons you think you may need.” Sam pulled a pair of guns from a bag near the door and secreted them in the layers of his clothing. Castiel didn’t waste time, but put a hand on Sam’s well-muscled arm and flew to the location where he believed Dean to be held.


	8. No One Loves Or Hates Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets some pants. Sam makes lasagna. Cas engages in a doctrinal dispute.

Dean forced his muscles to relax. There wasn’t much else he could do. The chair wasn’t quite big enough for someone of his size – didn’t quite rise high enough to be comfortable for his back and definitely not for his neck. The vinyl didn’t exactly feel great against his skin either. Dean didn’t even do shorts never mind sitting in the nude on cheap plastic surfaces with bad upholstery. There was a crack in the vinyl right under the spot where his left thigh met his ass. It shouldn’t have been a problem, wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d been wearing freaking pants. Or even freaking underwear. Or if they’d even put the stupid towel under him instead of over him – it wasn’t like he had anything that either of his captors hadn’t seen. He was pretty sure that his comfort level wasn’t exactly high on the list of his captors’ priorities, though. He’d have to take that up with them. When he got out of this. 

Then there was the actual pain. His arms chafed from where he’d struggled against his bonds. He was fairly certain that Gordon had broken his nose when he’d woken Dean up, but at least the sudden sharp pain had shocked the remnants of whatever Bela had dosed him with right out of his system. “That’s for sending me to Florida,” Gordon told him evenly.

“I had nothing to do with that, buddy,” Dean assured him with a cocky grin, despite the blood running down into his mouth. “That was all Cas. I kept telling him that you’re one of the good guys –“ 

“Cas. That’s short for Castiel, then?” Beth didn’t even sound like Beth anymore. The Midwestern twang, so familiar and welcoming, was gone from her voice and replaced by the faintly mocking lilt of a British accent. “The angel? Because Sariel tells us that he was ordered to see to your safety.” 

“That doesn’t mean I told him to ditch anyone with the police in freaking Florida,” he insisted. “We’re hunters, man. I got almost as little use for the police as you do. And not in freaking Florida.”

“Relax, Dean. I’m not going to hurt you,” Gordon said, sitting down at the table and putting his feet up. “We’re going to hang out here and wait for your angel and his hellspawn buddies to make a call.” 

Dean screwed up his face, even though the gesture made his broken nose hurt worse and spurt even more blood into his mouth. Not the breakfast substitute he’d been going for. “That’s… can you not say it like that? Because it sounds kind of gross.” 

Beth smirked. “Don’t worry, Dean. Your masculinity was perfectly well asserted last night. I had a lovely time.”

“Screw you, bitch. You drugged me.”

She shrugged. “Guilty. You don’t think I could have gotten you here any other way, do you?” “Anyway, you’re going to be waiting here for a little while. I told the others not to wait up. I figured we’d go another few rounds. You seemed to be enjoying yourself at the time,” he tossed at Beth with a leer. Not that he thought he could bring himself to touch her again, not after the whole kidnapping him and tying him naked to a chair thing. That kind of acted as a permanent Mr. Deflator Ray for Little Dean.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was good. It wasn’t good enough to make me forget that I’m on a clock.” She pulled up a chair and straddled it, right across from Dean. “So. Tell me what you know about the thing in the basement of the church in Petaluma.” 

“I know no one’s getting their freaking hands on it.” He gave her his best shit-eating grin. “Is that seriously what this is about? Are you Bela Talbot, then?” He shook his head. “Boy, if I’m going to get rolled at least I’m getting rolled by someone with a name for themselves, you know?”

“You make it sound so seedy, Dean.” She gave a little laugh. “Come on, admit it. You went to that bar absolutely spoiling for someone to screw. It was downright easy.” 

“Is this how you pull off all your heists? Fuck guys until they’re stupid and then take what you want?” He managed to pull off the sneer. It wasn’t easy, sneering when you’re tied naked to a crappy office chair with a broken nose, but Dean Winchester had bullshitted his way out of worse situations and he could definitely get out of this one. Probably. If the guns stayed away. 

“If that’s what it takes,” she admitted with a long, slow smile. “Come on, Dean. We’re not that different. We’ll both do whatever it takes to get the job done. Our bodies are just another tool in our arsenal. It’s not like you’ve never seduced information out of a contact or money out of a mark before.”

“Yeah but I’m doing it to save lives,” Dean challenged.

“Oh please.” She rolled her wide eyes. “You’re basically a serial killer with a very specialized clientele. Everything you do is based on hatred and vengeance. You have no idea half the time if what you’re hunting deserves to be killed and you don’t concern yourself with collateral damage. How many civilians got caught in your madcap dash for the Yellow-Eyed Demon? You both chased your brother away and all you could think about was vengeance instead of repairing the living family you had left. And then – then – your living brother became your dead brother and that still didn’t tip you off that maybe – just maybe – you weren’t the hero you thought you were.” 

Dean strained against his bonds. “Shut up.” 

“Oh calm down, Dean. There’s nothing you can do about it now. Although I do find it fascinating that you’re palling around with Azazel’s brood there now when you wouldn’t lift a finger to help Sam then.” She pursed her lips. “Seen the error of your ways now that Daddy’s gone? Because I’m sure that we could come to a lucrative arrangement –“ 

He tried to stand up. It didn’t get him very far, just wound up slamming the chair on the ground, but the sound was loud enough to make both Bela and Gordon jump. “I said shut up!” 

“Touchy,” the thief tsked. And that was when the door opened. It didn’t slam open; it simply opened with a gentle push. Dean’s back was to the door, so he couldn’t see who was interrupting them but he could see the effect it had on Bela and Gordon. Both of his captors sprang to their feet, guns at the ready. Guns were bad. Guns decreased the possibility of his getting out of there alive by several orders of magnitude. “You couldn’t have flown in here,” Bela objected. She held her gun out, toward the enemy. “We warded specifically against that.”

“My companion has a skill set that isn’t strictly legal,” came Cas’ voice. 

“Aw, ain’t that sweet,” Gordon monotoned. “Dean-o’s little angel came to save his sorry ass.” His gun was not pointed at Castiel but at Dean. “Too bad he ain’t going to be around to appreciate it.” 

There was an inhuman snarl from somewhere behind where Cas’ voice had been and Gordon’s gun went flying away into a corner. “What the Hell?” Dean grumbled, craning his neck around to try to get a view. It didn’t help. It did exacerbate the crick in his neck. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t Sam Murphy,” Dean’s former partner identified with a sneer of hate. “Captain of the Palo Alto Freak Society. Looking good there, Sammy. Love the eyes.” He stepped over to Dean and the next thing the hunter knew he had a knife at his throat.

“How did I not see this coming?” he groused. 

Sam came to stand in front of them both, head down, looking up at the pair through a curtain of hair with his hands held loose at his sides. His chest rose and fell with deep inhalations, shoulders thrown back. “Back. Off.” Sam’s eyes were pure gold and he growled more than he spoke. Dean recognized his stance from fights he’d had with their dad, fights he knew that neither Winchester was going to back down from. Even then, even when Sam had been smaller and scrawny and only had the power in his muscles to back him, he hadn’t lost every fight.

“Now now, Sammy. That’s not how you conduct a hostage negotiation. See this knife here? It’s very sharp. All I have to do is sneeze and Winchester here loses a few octaves from his vocal register.” Gordon grinned sickly. 

Sam just smiled, a horrible rictus of an expression that more closely resembled a gash, and Gordon flew across the room. His head hit the wall with a sound like a melon hitting cement and he collapsed to the ground, senseless. Sam stepped forward and pulled a knife, cutting Dean free. The elder brother couldn’t see the younger’s face as he worked, but when he looked up, his eyes were hazel again. “Jeez, Dean, you think they could’ve put some pants on you?”

“I’m just sitting here in what God gave me, Sammy.” He made himself smirk, forced the joke to hide the shaking in his limbs. That had been close. And what Sam had done to Gordon shouldn’t have been possible. He’d seen human telekinetics at work before but not like this, never like this. 

“The last time I was this close to your ass you farted on me until I passed out,” his little brother grumbled. 

“That’s ‘cause you were being a little bitch, Sammy.” He rubbed his wrists as the bonds fell away.

On the other side of the room Bela faced off against Castiel, if briefly. She smirked. “You think you can frighten me, angel.” She’d gotten a knife from somewhere. “I may be human but I’m not completely defenseless.” She moved her hand to cut across her arm, quick and sure. 

Cas pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, then simply re-appeared behind the thief and touched two fingers to her temple. She collapsed into his arms. “She will remain asleep until we choose to revive her,” he intoned, still making that sour lemon face. He looked for all the world like he’d picked up an arm full of dog shit. “What should we do with her?” 

“We could just tie her to the chair and leave her here,” Dean offered. “You know. For old times’ sake.” He leaned on Sam as the adrenaline left him. Everything hurt, he was so thirsty he might be able to drink all of Lake Michigan (not that that was a good idea) and he might never be able to breathe through his nose again. And he really, really wanted some pants. 

Sam cleared his throat. “I don’t think so. I… it’s not a great neighborhood, Dean. Someone would find her eventually and it… it wouldn’t be pretty. Besides, we can use her.”

“So what do you want to do, genius? It’s not like we can just dump her at the nearest hospital and run,” Dean snapped. 

“No, no, of course not. I, um. She’s working for Lilith, yeah. But I don’t think she’s working for Lilith voluntarily. If we can maybe help her with whatever her problem is, maybe she can give us information that will help us.” 

Both Dean and Cas blinked at him now. “Seriously?” Dean said finally. “You want to help the person who drugged and kidnapped me?” 

Sam sighed. “I want to know what she knows, Dean. And I know she’s running scared.”

“Sam is… generous,” Cas admitted, “but fundamentally correct. I can sense a lien against her soul, now that I am in such intimate contact with her. I suspect that this has something to do with her willingness to work with Lilith. But where should we bring her?” Sam grimaced. 

“There’s a room in the basement. It’s not comfortable and we’ll have to keep a very close eye on her, but we can do it.” 

“It took almost getting killed for me to be allowed into your house and you want to open the front door to her?” Dean questioned, outraged. 

“If you want to spend a few nights locked in a storeroom with no windows or bed, be my guest,” Sam frowned. “You’re kind of missing the point. I don’t want to bring her back; I’m seeing it as an opportunity to get something that we need from her. There’s a difference. Otherwise we let her go and she keeps coming after you, because you’re the one she’s identified as the one she needs to take out.” 

“Fine.” It all made sense to Dean, but he couldn’t just give in, not just like that. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

“Oh hell no.” Gordon’s voice startled them all. Dean wouldn’t have expected him to wake up for a while, not after bouncing off the wall like that. “You’re not going anywhere. None of you are.” Maybe his eyes looked a little glassy but the gun in his hand didn’t shake at all and his voice was just as steady as he spoke. “You’re going to leave my partner right here with me. Dean-o too. And then, Murphy, you’re going to die.” 

Sam’s face went perfectly blank. “Maybe. Cas, get her out of here.” Cas frowned but flew away, Bela still in his arms.

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to convince a good hunter like Dean that you’re not a monster. That you’re human,” the enemy continued. Blood ran down his head from where he’d connected with the bricks. “But you and me, we know better, don’t we Sammy? I know what you are. I know what kind of filth runs through your veins.”

“You really don’t,” Sam told him calmly. “You have no idea.” 

“Oh, but I do. I’ve been following you freaks around for years. Snakes in our midst, hiding around real humans for more than twenty years. A demon army that isn’t stopped by holy water or salt. But I know what will stop you. A good old fashioned bullet.” He fired. Dean shouted, shoving Sam aside. The projectile only hit him in the shoulder but it still struck, leaving Sam bleeding profusely.

Gordon didn’t get a chance to enjoy his victory, however. A gesture from Sam spun his head a hundred and eighty degrees with a crack that made Dean’s stomach turn and he collapsed to the ground. 

“Sam?” Dean yelled, grabbing his brother. Sammy already looked pale – that was a lot of blood. “Sam, you okay?” 

“I’ll be fine,” the other said distantly. “We need to get out of here. Shots fired, dead body, naked guy – it doesn’t look good. Grab onto me – you’re not going to like this much.” Dean grabbed onto his brother, using his modesty towel to try to stop some of the bleeding. He had the brief but nauseating sensation of having every cell in his body stretched, compressed, and stretched again. Then he was in the living room of Sam’s house, still naked and clutching onto Sam like a toddler. Sam collapsed to the floor. 

Dean stood back as several things happened. Sam struggled to rise again and made it as far as his knees. Jess and Pastor Jim intervened, quickly moving to cut through his shirts, making it easier to access the wound. Where had Jess even had that knife? Ruby leaped forward to probe at the injury while someone Dean couldn’t even track ran off to find something to use as bandages. Even though it had been less than a minute (had it really been only a few dozen seconds?) there had been too much blood. Gordon had gotten the artery; Sam was going to die. “Hey, dumbass,” Ruby snarled as Sam’s eyes fluttered shut. “You want to go fetch your little feathered friend and see if he can maybe do something about this? Or you want to lose him for good this time?”

Dean jumped. He hadn’t even realized she was speaking to him. “Cas won’t – he won’t heal Sam,” he explained. 

“You’ll just have to change his mind then,” Jess growled. “Quickly. He’s in your room.” 

Yeah. Change his mind. Right. Dean could do that. Dean raced up to the house’s third floor, taking the stairs two at a time, and flung the door open. “Dean, the thief is downstairs,” Cas began. “I did not wake her –“

“Gordon shot Sam,” Dean interrupted. “He’s not going to make it.” The angel said nothing, simply disappeared. Dean slumped for a moment, then remembered himself and grabbed a pair of jeans out of his duffel before running back down the stairs. 

When he got there Cas was kneeling beside Sam, whose head was cradled in Jess’ lap. “I do not know if this will be possible,” he was telling the assembly in his gravelly voice.

“At least you’ll have made the effort,” Pastor Jim told him, putting a hand on the angel’s. “Sam’s had faith his whole life. More than anyone I’ve known, really. Have some faith yourself, Castiel.” He grinned a little. “It’s okay.”

Dean put a hand on Cas’ back, right between where he imagined his wings would be. “Come on, Cas. You can do this. He can’t help you with the artifact if he’s dead.” 

Blue eyes turned to glare at him for a moment, but he sighed and reached out to touch his hands to the gushing bullet wound. For a moment it seemed like the worst might have happened. The injury glowed red, Cas’ hands glowed red and the angel grunted in pain. Sweat broke out on his face – were angels supposed to sweat? – and Sam groaned. Cas didn’t lift his hands, though, and after a moment the glow changed from red to blue. The blood slowed and finally stopped. The flesh repaired itself, smoothing to the point that no sign of injury remained. Sam remained unconscious but all traces of blood disappeared. “He is well. I have repaired the damage left by the bullet as well as tendon damage left by improper attention to a dislocation when he was thirteen.”

Dean laughed weakly. “We figured it was just a little sprain and he was being a baby about it.”

“He will be fine,” Cas said again, and he gave a small smile. He gathered the younger Winchester up into his arms and disappeared, reappearing a moment later. “I have put him into his own bed. He is still fatigued from loss of blood and lack of sleep; I judged it best to let him sleep without dreams.” He glanced at Dean, then at Jess. “Was this… right?”

Both grinned. “That was fine, Cas,” Jess told him, throwing her arms around the angel in a spontaneous hug. “I’m going to go put him in some pajamas, though.” She ran up the stairs, happy to tend to a living if exhausted husband instead of a dead one. 

The other witnesses disappeared as well, probably looking to reclaim the sleep that they’d lost in between Dean’s abduction and Sam’s injury. Dean was now alone with Castiel. The angel turned to his charge. “Dean,” he intoned. “I need for you to know – maybe you can explain it to Sam. It was never about being unwilling to heal him.” 

Dean drew back. “Whaddya mean, Cas? You didn’t want to get closer than the width of a table to Sam.”

“I am not the only one, Dean. But that is beside the point. Fraternization was discouraged. When it comes to healing, an angel cannot heal a demon. It is not physically possible.” 

He shifted. “Sammy’s no demon.” The words came out of him before he could stop them, violent and heated. 

“He is not. His nature is partially demonic, however – through no real fault of his, but it must be considered. You saw that it caused him pain, for me to heal him as I did. I had no idea if healing him would kill him or smite him. I was unwilling to risk ending his life if I did not – if there was a less risky option on the table.” He looked away but turned his eyes back to look at Dean. “You understand why I was unwilling to heal him when he had been stabbed before.” 

Dean bit his lip and nodded. “I’m glad you took the risk this time, Cas,” he said, putting a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Thanks.” 

*

Sam drifted slowly back into consciousness. He didn’t feel like he needed to rush. He was warm and safe and content wherever he was, if kind of thirsty, and he was comfortable. Still, he was awake. He should probably figure out the whys and the hows of everything. The reasons he was so comfortably warm and comparatively immobile became readily apparent once his eyes were open. Every blanket in the house had apparently been piled on top of him. He turned his eyes over to Jess, who had curled up beside him in her blue nightgown. “Are you going to do this every time I get hurt on a hunt?” he asked her. 

“Every time you need a miracle to heal you,” she confirmed with a grin, touching the tip of his nose with a smile. She closed her book and passed him a Gatorade. “How are you feeling?” 

He drank the sugary drink. “I must have been bad off,” he admitted. “That actually tastes good.” 

“You almost died, Sam. Again.” She took the empty bottle from him and passed him another. “Cas healed you.”

He almost choked on his sports drink; Jess had to pound on his back to help him breathe again. “I thought he wasn’t going to do that?” 

“You were dying, Sam.” 

“So?” He hastened to continue when he saw the look on her face. “He made it pretty clear that didn’t matter much as far as Heaven was concerned.” 

“Maybe they reevaluated.” “Doubt it. I killed Gordon Walker, Jess.” 

“Good.” “No. I mean I snapped his neck from twenty feet away.” He slumped his head against the wall, where a tapestry created a makeshift headboard. “Pretty sure stuff like that puts me well beyond Heaven’s interest, not that I was ever on their ‘nice’ list to begin with.” 

“Oh, Sam.” She caressed his face with her hand. “You did what you had to do. He hurt Dean – he’d drugged him twice, he’d only have kept coming for Dean. He’d have come after all of us.” 

“I know. I do. It’s just…” He sighed. “Dean saw me do it. He saw me do it and he... I, uh, I brought him back here the, uh, the easy way. He’s never going to want to see me again, he’s probably already left.”

“He’s subjecting Castiel to a Star Wars marathon,” she smiled softly. “I think they’re on ‘Empire’ right now. Ruby, Anna and Meg are with them.” 

“Ruby and Anna?” Sam winced. “You don’t think Cas can handle seeing two girls kiss?” she challenged, a dangerous glint to her eyes.

“I don’t think that Cas can handle seeing a demon and an angel making out on the couch,” Sam corrected. “That’s different. Even if Anna’s fallen.”

“Maybe it will expand his horizons.” She paused. “Do angels even have gender? All the lore says they don’t.”

“I so don’t get to define someone else’s gender identity.” He held up his hands. “I should go down there, get back to planning, check on Bela –“ 

“Bela isn’t going to wake up until Cas decides she gets to wake up. And he hasn’t,” his wife pointed out, wrapping strong arms around him. He loved the feeling of her flesh on his. “He’s busy learning about humanity. And you almost died. I almost lost you. I get to hold you. You promised. It’s in your vows.” 

His breath caught in his throat and he stopped struggling. “You’re right. It is.” They never used the past tense when it came to their vows; considering their history, it felt too much like asking for trouble. He slouched back down and touched his lips to hers. “I’m sorry; planning can wait until tomorrow.” 

“Damn straight it can.” She kissed him now, gently and sweetly and leaving him in no doubt as to how serious the danger had been. 

He felt much better the next day; well enough to take his morning run like always. He wasn’t expecting anyone to object to this, but when he got back to the house he found a furious Dean waiting in the kitchen with Meg, Cas, and Ruby. “What the Hell, Sam?” he scowled. “Where the Hell were you?” 

“Uh, running?” he replied, gesturing to his sweat-drenched clothes. Ruby whistled. Meg snickered. “It’s this thing, you put one foot in front of the other really fast over and over.” 

“I know what running is, smartass,” Dean snapped. “I had no idea where you were.”

“Anyone who lives here could have told you, Dean. I go every morning.” 

“Not every morning after some… psycho hunter tries to kill you!” 

Sam sighed and took off his sneakers. “You’d be surprised. And thanks to Cas, I’m not dead. I’m fine. I’d like to continue to be fine, and running helps me to stay grounded. So… running. I need to shower, though, if I’m not going to stink my classes right out of the room.”

Dean’s face went scarlet. Homeland Security could have used his face as a threat indicator. “You’re going to class today? After everything?” 

“Yeah, Dean. After everything. I promise not to kill anyone.” He stepped around his brother and went to go shower, ignoring the calls of “Sam! Sammy!’ coming from behind him. 

When he got back downstairs the kitchen was blessedly empty. He walked over to campus, where he made it through his usual classes with a determined focus. Whatever Heaven might want, no matter what was going on with this stupid artifact and Lilith and Hell and fallen angels and Lucifer loyalists popping back up out of the woodwork, he was going to focus on this. He could succeed. He’d built this for himself, he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from him. 

Through the day he got status updates from the others. Ava had found the company that made the material the deep-sea sub was supposed to be made from, based in Milpitas for reasons Sam couldn’t even remotely begin to comprehend. Jake and Dean had started building the curse box that would go inside the special deep-sea box. Castiel had gone off to Heaven to do… something… who knew what. Important angel business, he thought wryly as he glanced at the text from Lily. Bela seemed to be secure and not in any kind of distress or discomfort. 

Sam’s last class ended at three. Rather than head to the library to work on his paper he returned home; he could work later, after he’d contributed to saving the world. After all, it wasn’t like that wasn’t a schedule he’d kept before. He found the curse box already put together and glued up, simply waiting for the glue to dry. He decided to start on dinner for the family – they had more than a few people to feed, after all.

Dean entered the kitchen while the lasagna noodles were draining. “How you doing?” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Need a hand with anything? I know there’s a lot of mouths to feed.” 

Sam considered. He didn’t, not really, but he didn’t want to push Dean away. “Yeah, thanks. If you want to start, uh, grating cheese or something.” He gestured with his knife at the pile of parm on the table. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Dean got to work. After five minutes with the box grater he frowned. “How come we don’t just order pizzas again?” 

Sam chuckled. “Money. Pizza’s cheap, but it’s not that cheap. Plus it’s not that healthy. My lasagna has actual vegetables in it.”

Dean grimaced. “Yuck.” 

“You’ll love it. Everyone does.” 

“It’s going to be some weird-ass California mutant lasagna. You’re going to put, like, alfalfa sprouts in it.” He poked at the pile of ingredients as though expecting a bag of sprouts to jump out and bite his nose. 

“Huh. Hadn’t thought of that. I wonder if they should go in the sauce or maybe mixed in with the cheese,” Sam speculated, hand on his jaw. If Dean wanted to joke he would joke. 

“Can’t you at least, I don’t know, use your Jedi mind powers to like grate the cheese super-fast or something? Or chop the onions?” Dean groused.

“Um, no.”

“The hell good are they, then? If you can’t use them to get stupid chores done why have them at all, right?” He quirked half a grin, and Sam saw what he was trying to do.

“I know, seriously,” he said, and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders and back. “I see Cas fixed your nose.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, he decided he liked it better, you know, in alignment. More efficient that way.” He gestured toward his face with the cheese. “With the whole breathing thing, you know.” 

“Makes hunting easier.”

“Yeah.” They lapsed into silence once again. 

“So,” Sam ventured. “You made Cas sit through Star Wars again.” 

“Oh, come on, man. I had no choice. He’d never seen it before that one time. I couldn’t let that continue. It’s not like we were unchaperoned. Ruby and Anna were there.” He tilted his head to the side in a gesture that was so angelic it gave Sam goosebumps. “That’s one Hell of a pairing.” 

“Interesting turn of phrase.” 

“Hot though.”

“Dean,” he frowned. 

“What! They are! Anyway, Meg seemed to have this fascination with Cas’ hair. She kept scratching his head like he was some kind of puppy.” 

Sam felt his eyebrows rise. “Oh. Okay. That’s… interesting. You know she was at the slaughter of Samarkand.”

“She’s a celebrity, then.” He bobbed his head from side to side, considering. “At least our little boy is doing well for himself.”

“She’s a celebrity in Hell, Dean.” He spoke without heat, though. Cas wasn’t just a grown man, he was an angel. He knew what he was getting into. And so did Meg. “So did he like Star Wars?” 

“It’s hard to say with that guy. Who can tell what he likes? He kept trying to figure out ‘which of these characters is analogous to our roles,’ or something,” he said, imitating the angel’s gravelly tone perfectly. “I mean I’m Han Solo, there’s no denying that. He can’t decide if he’s Luke Skywalker or C-3PO.” 

“Who does he think I am?” Sam wondered, starting to chop the steamed kale. “He thinks you’re Princess Leia. I keep telling him you’re Chewbacca. If you want to get a job with a top law firm, Sammy, you’re going to need to get your hair cut.” 

“Depends on the kind of law I go into,” he retorted. “A public defender can get away with longer hair.” 

“Seriously? You want to be defending killers and child molesters and shit?” Dean recoiled.

“Someone has to, or else that whole ‘innocent until proven guilty’ thing goes right out the window, doesn’t it? I mean, accusation isn’t proof of guilt. Besides, how many times have you been arrested and needed a public defender to get you out?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, that’s different.”

“Is it? Wouldn’t it be helpful if sometimes you didn’t have to lie to your lawyer about why you were digging up a grave or why you had GSR on your hands?” He shook his head. “I’m a little more interested in environmental law, actually. But you have to admit that the idea has merit, right?” 

“I don’t have to, Sammy,” Dean returned with affected dignity. “I might choose to on the basis of my own generosity and the fact that it would indeed have been useful that time in Deadwood. But I don’t have to.” 

Sam laughed. “Yeah. Okay, Dean.” 

Sam had chosen lasagna because they could assemble it and forget about it while they researched and waited for everyone else to get home. Cas joined them, although he did not eat. Jess made a salad to go with the lasagna. Pastor Jim had stopped off on the way back from the church in Petaluma to buy pie, much to Dean’s delight. Finding space for everyone to eat proved to be more of a challenge than could be overcome given the size of their dining table so they spread out into the living room, dining in clumps wherever they could find space.

After dinner they went to awaken Bela, after first carefully securing the prisoner to prevent her from finding a way to banish Castiel. Ava found a pair of oyster gloves – specifically designed to prevent cuts while shucking oysters, who knew that they even made such a thing – and the items were secured to Bela’s hands before she was cuffed and awakened. Sam didn’t expect her to be particularly happy to see them, and he wasn’t disappointed. “I see that you’ve caught me,” she smirked. “I’m sure you’re very proud of yourselves.” 

“Are you hungry?” Sam asked her. “We saved you some lasagna. We don’t exactly trust you with the fork by yourself, but we can feed it to you.” 

She sniffed. “Like I’d eat or drink anything that came from you lot.” 

“Then you will die a slow, painful, and uncomfortable death. More uncomfortable than the one that awaits you from the hellhounds,” Castiel promised her in his emotionless monotone.

She glanced up sharply at him. “What would you know about that?”

“I can see the lien against your soul, Bela. If Sam were to try harder he probably could do so as well, but I suppose it is a minimally useful skill for him.” 

Sam frowned. “You sold your soul.” “That’s why you’re working for Lilith,” 

Dean sneered, leaning over her and bracing his hand on one of the shelving supports. “You think they’ll let you out of your deal if you get that whatsits in the vault in Petaluma.” 

She paused, silent for at least half a minute. “That’s the agreement I made with Crowley.” 

“I’m sorry, Bela,” Sam volunteered. “I really am. But Crowley has no intention of honoring that agreement.” Now that he had a name, though, he knew where to apply pressure. It was a start. 

“You can’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve seen it. As soon as you hand it over to him you get devoured by hellhounds.” He wrinkled his nose. “I have to say, it’s not usually like Crowley to break an agreement like that. But if Lilith is pulling his strings, and she probably is, he probably doesn’t have much choice.” 

“What, you’re psychic now?” she scoffed, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. 

“Someone who uses a Ouija board to get help for cases seriously has something to say about psychics?” Dean made a face. 

“Maybe I should introduce myself.” Sam sighed. He hated throwing his background around like this, but maybe it was time to throw Bela off her game a bit. He pulled himself up to his full height and let some of his raw power show through, let the eyes go yellow. “The name’s Sam. If you’re tangling with demons as high up on the food chain as Lilith and Crowley you’ve heard the name before.” 

Dean looked at him out of the side of his eye but Bela blanched a little. “Maybe,” she confessed, tossing her hair back with defiance. “What about it? And if you are who you say you are then why would you be working with angels in the first place? I’d think you’d have about as much use for Heaven as they do for you.” 

He made himself shrug. The words stung – like he needed the reminder – but he couldn’t let them interfere. “Because I’m not interested in letting Lilith get her hands on it. And I’m not the only one. What do you know about what’s in the vault, Bela?” 

Cas backed away slightly and he could feel Dean staring, but Bela showed no fear. “And why exactly would I tell you again? You’ve kidnapped me – taken me against my will – and locked me in a filthy basement.” 

“Because you treated Dean so much better,” Sam growled.

“Hazards of the job. He should know better than to sleep next to girls he just met in a bar when he knows that someone’s gunning for him.” She directed a saccharine-sweet smile at Dean. 

Sam felt his hand clench into a fist and forced it to relax. He was not going to strike her – not when she couldn’t defend herself, not just for words. Even if they were terrible words. “Why did you sell your soul, Bela? That’s an awfully big bill to have coming due, and believe me when I tell you that’s a price you cannot afford.” 

She glanced away. “You wouldn’t understand. No one did.” 

He reached out with the hand that had been clenched and let a wall fall, the one that usually blocked visions. He only left it there long enough to get a glimpse – a girl on a swing, painful tears running down her face, a bedroom in an upscale British home, a door closing behind a man in a suit. He pulled the hand away. “I’m sorry you were driven to that,” he told her quietly. He couldn’t fault her for doing anything in her power to get out of that situation - not him, of all people. Maybe he’d talk to Meg about finding her parents’ souls and adding a little something to the flames - no, that would be wrong. That wasn’t him, wasn’t his role. The temptation was there, though. “And I’m sorry no one understood at the time. Believe me. Here is what I’m offering. We’ll try to help you. I can’t promise we’ll succeed, but we will try to get you out of your deal. In exchange, you tell us everything you know, and you work with us.” He ignored the silent expressions of betrayal and hurt around him; they would have to deal. After all, if they could deal with Mary selling him to Azazel they had no right to judge Bela. Her eyes were full of tears, but she still managed a smirk. 

“What, are you going to ask to seal the deal?”

“No,” he told her, meeting her eyes squarely. “I turned that gig down.”

*

No one, to include Castiel, trusted Bela at the house. He transported her from the cell to her hotel room with strict instructions to not double-cross them. Then he returned to the house. The glue was still drying on the curse box, so Castiel extended his grace to finish that process and started helping Lily to paint the warding onto the exterior of the box. “You went up to Heaven?” Dean asked him, coming in from the living room. He had two glasses of whiskey and he pushed one toward Castiel. 

He assumed he was supposed to drink the whiskey, so he obediently raised the glass to his lips. People drank this? On purpose? A thought altered the beverage’s composition, changing both glasses from bottom shelf rotgut to a much more palatable aged bourbon. “I did. I reported to my superiors about Sariel’s death.” He bit his lip. How much should he reveal? “I must confess, Dean. I have not revealed to them that we will not be bringing the artifact to Heaven.” 

Dean’s eyes bulged. Castiel wondered if he might choke on his beverage. “Wow, Cas,” he said as Lily started to pack up her paints. “That’s – that’s big. Hey, Lily – where’ you going?”

“I don’t – I don’t really need to be part of this discussion,” she told them. “I mean, it’s great that you guys talk and everything – but I don’t need to be here for that.”

“It involves you, Lily. You’re part of it,” Sam insisted, coming up behind her. “You deserve all of the information – you deserve to be informed.” 

She gave him a quick, grateful smile. “Thanks, Sam. But I’m not – not really. I mean yes – I am part of it, I’m in this with you. But I’m in this with you because of you – not because I’m looking to fight anyone or because I think I’m going to get on the angels’ good side or whatever. I’m following you. We all are – Jake, Ava, even Jess. We don’t want to be able to give away information if we get caught or anything, or if they can read minds.” She glowered at Castiel. “And don’t you tell me that you can’t.” 

He cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he told her, looking away. 

“So anyway, I don’t want more details than I have to have. I trust you, Sam. You’re our leader; I know you’re going to lead us right. Alright?” She offered Sam a lopsided grin and scurried back to her room. 

Dean glanced at Sam. “No pressure, though.” 

He huffed out a little laugh. “Tell me about it. Sorry, Cas. You were saying?” 

“I have not yet disclosed to my superiors that we will be disposing of the artifact rather than delivering it unto Heaven.” It felt easier to say the words the second time, as though he’d broken some kind of barrier when they’d first emerged. “Sariel is not working alone. Was not working alone,” he corrected himself, looking away. “I do not know how much… I do not know how far the corruption runs.”

“Eesh.” Dean raised his glass again. Cas glared at the box, and the warding appeared on the interior and exterior without error or need for paint to dry or any such thing. “You couldn’t have done that in the first place, Cas?” 

“You didn’t ask.” He didn’t know if his joke would go over at all well, but he was gratified when Sam gave him a very small smile. “What are our next steps?”

“We get a box to put this bad boy into,” Dean announced, patting the curse box proprietarily. “And then we go get the goods.” 

“And then we drop the sucker to the bottom of the Mariana Trench,”

Sam added. “How will we manage that?” Cas frowned. “An angel will be unable to handle the box, nor will a demon.” He looked from brother to brother. 

“I have a few ideas,” Sam assured him. “I’m still fleshing them out between Meg and Pastor Jim, but I think at least a few of them have a decent shot at working.” He smiled briefly, a thin, reedy thing that offered no solace. “I’ll bring you in once we have a better idea of what’s feasible – no sense in arguing or debating something that has no chance of success, you know?” He glanced at Castiel. “Hey. Uh, I wanted to say thank you.” 

“For?” Castiel drew his eyebrows together. “Healing me. I know it wasn’t easy.” 

He let his face relax. “Actually, Sam, it was.” He clapped a hand onto the younger Winchester’s shoulder. “I’m happy to see you well.” 

Dean pretended to gag on his drink. “All right, all right, you’re turning this into a chick flick moment. Enough. Let’s get a move on.” 

The psychic called Andy paid a visit to the company manufacturing the deep-sea vessel the next day and extracted a promise of a functioning box fitting their specifications within a week. The company was happy to provide him with such a sample of their work; it was that simple. Castiel couldn’t believe that humans would part with something that valuable simply because Andy asked them to, even with powers gifted to him by Azazel, but Sam assured him that it was not a problem. “How do you think we got this place?” he chuckled quietly. 

The nature of the artifact proved elusive as ever, even with Pastor Jim’s relationship with the parish. The Men of Letters seemed to have specialized in concealing things, lest the uninitiated learn something that their betters believed should be rightly kept from them. Odd, Castiel thought, how such a thought would probably not have occurred to him prior to his partnership with the Winchesters. 

It was his partnership with the Winchesters that caused some consternation in Heaven. He returned during the week between the commissioning of the deep-sea box and its production to check in and found himself confronted by Uriel. “I believe that I instructed you to seek revelation until I summoned you,” he objected, scowling. 

“I have found revelation, brother,” Uriel informed him in a voice like a purr. “I need not seek it further. You are still angered over Sariel’s death.” 

“It was unnecessary, Uriel. I would be angered over the death of any of our siblings,” he explained, struggling to gain control over his expression. Anger was an emotion, and emotions were gateways to doubt. Everyone knew this, did they not? Who was it who had first told them that? Was it … it was Anael, who had first explained the connection between emotion and doubt. And doubt, of course, led to disobedience. He thought of Anna, head pillowed on Ruby’s chest as the demon’s fingers combed through her red hair. “We needed the information that she had,” he continued. “As it is, we were able to find the Righteous Man via other methods. It is still not fitting that an angel should die. We will need all of the warriors that we can muster if we are to repel Lilith’s forces.”

“But she was working for Lilith, was she not?” Uriel challenged. 

“Perhaps. Perhaps she knew not what she did. We will never know, Uriel, because you stabbed her in the back.” He glared. “This is a momentous thing that you have done, brother. “ 

Uriel hung his head. “It is. It is, and I do regret it. I could not risk her divulging more than she ought until we were sure of you, brother.” Another angel landed in the room. Castiel recognized her as Hester after he took a moment to adjust to the vessel, a blonde. The last time she’d taken a vessel the vessel had been Cherokee. 

He readied his angel blade, although he kept it concealed. “Sure of me?” 

“You already show signs of doubt, Castiel,” Hester observed. “Don’t be afraid. We will not divulge your secret. We, too, long for a change.” 

“And what change is that, sister?” he asked her, unwilling to let either of them out of his sight. “This is Heaven. Heaven does not change.” 

“Ah, but Heaven has changed,” Uriel pointed out. “Heaven has changed. It changed three times. It changed when our Father left.”

“It changed when our brother was cast down into the Cage,” Hester added. 

“And it changed when our brother Michael became obsessed with his brother and with Hell,” Uriel finished. “What if we could change it back?” 

Castiel paused, trying to follow the logic. “Are you trying to… Uriel, Hester, are you working with Lilith?” he demanded.

“Surely, Castiel, you can see the advantage to us in allowing a war between Heaven and Hell,” his subordinate pressed. “We are warriors. We were created to fight, not to sit and observe.” 

“It is not for us to question – simply to be ready,” Castiel retorted. 

“No! We must bring the fight to them!” he howled. “If Lilith has a weapon that can kill even archangels she will come and liberate us from Michael’s tyranny. With the archangels gone our Father will have to come back to us, Castiel!” 

“Uriel, you are deluded.” Castiel shook his head. “Our father trusts Michael to lead us. He created us separate from humans for a reason. And you trust to a demon – to a twisted, mutilated human soul – to counter His will?” He backed up slowly. 

“He will come when he sees the mess Michael has made,” Hester urged, stepping forward. Her earnestness radiated from her every gesture. “When he sees the way we have taken matters in hand, the way that we have honored His wishes, he will be proud, Castiel.” 

“Our Father will never be proud of our working with Lucifer’s abominations to slaughter our brothers and sisters,” he pointed out. “Or to give Hell dominion over the Earth. This is something that he would never permit. He set Michael in place after he left because he wished for us to protect humanity, not to conspire with Lilith to destroy it!”

Uriel’s mouth twisted. “I would not think that you would have such a problem with ‘Lucifer’s abominations,’ brother, seeing as how you come to us with their scent still wafting about you.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he objected, drawing himself up. “Oh come now Castiel. You healed the Winchester boy of a mortal wound yesterday, did you think anyone didn’t know what the two of them got up to in Hell? He can’t have fought too hard if he survived,” the older rebel stated. 

Castiel fought to contain his revulsion, both at the declaration of what had been done to Sam and Uriel’s casual, dismissive attitude toward Sam’s torture. “Just join us, Castiel. There are more of us than you may think.” 

“I will not fight for Lilith,” he informed them firmly.

“Then you will die,” Hester informed him regretfully. “I am sorry, Castiel.” 

They attacked him as one, with Uriel aiming for his head and Hester stabbing toward his chest. They were both formidable warriors in their own rights – whatever vessel they might have chosen; their feats of strength and agility were legendary on field of battle. Castiel had one hope. He lashed out at Hester, dancing out of the way of Uriel’s blade even as he pushed his sister out of the way. She dodged, of course, but his intention had been less to connect than to buy some time. He reached into his pocket with one hand even as he spread his wings in flight and pulled up Dean’s number, dialing as he landed in Sam Winchester’s back yard.

Dean picked up on the first ring while Uriel and Hester landed behind him. “Yeah, Cas?”

Castiel dodged a blow from Uriel, lashing out with a foot as he had seen Sam do once. Angels did not, as a general rule, kick but this meant that they rarely expected kicks. “I’m in the back,” he grunted as the larger angel’s blow deflected off his ribs. He hadn’t managed to stab – Castiel blocked that much – but the attack still landed as a punch instead. “I could use your help.”

It did occur to him that Dean had very few tools that would be at all useful in fighting two rogue angels, but he had already ended the call before cancelling. Dean raced out the back door of the house; he must have already been in the kitchen. Sam, Meg, and Ruby followed. Castiel felt a searing tear in his Grace as Hester’s blade cut across his arm, deep enough that he was forced to drop his own blade. It clanged against the flagstones as it fell, piercing the morning.

This was it – he could help Heaven and the Winchesters no more. Sam’s eyes narrowed as Uriel moved in for the kill and he held out a hand. His face settled, unlined for once, and he closed his eyes. Castiel knew what he was going to try. He didn’t know if it was possible; the thought put a knot of cold terror right in the center of his Grace to be quite honest. But Sam was strong, and if anyone had the possibility of such power it was Sam. 

He wasn’t going to stand there bleeding Grace and waiting for a human to rescue him any more than Uriel seemed inclined to stand there and wait to be destroyed. Castiel hooked his foot around his enemy’s leg and knocked him onto the ground, toppling him onto his back. Uriel gagged as he hit the ground, terror marring his vessel’s face. Sam’s face was covered in sweat now, and his nose gushed blood freely, but he did not let up. Tendrils of grace escaped from the vessel but Sam clenched his hand into a trembling fist and the angel was forced to remain still.. The important thing, however, was that Uriel also dropped his blade. Castiel picked it up and drove it into the vessel’s heart. Everyone but Castiel and Hester blocked their eyes to protect them from the blast. 

The scorch marks from Uriel’s wings would stay etched into the patio forever; the only sign of what had once been the most magnificent plumage since Lucifer. Castiel hung his head in sorrow for a moment as Sam sagged to the ground, exhausted beyond endurance. Dean and Ruby both rushed to his side. “Cas! Behind you!” the former cried. 

Cas spun around, bringing his weapon up to defend himself, but it was too late. Hester already had the killing blow descending toward him. Before she could land it, however, her eyes bulged in their sockets and her Grace exploded. The body of the empty vessel fell over Uriel’s remains when the light show passed, leaving only a nonchalant-looking Meg standing with a bloody angel blade. “What?” she said, eyes wide. “She was one of the bad guys, right?” 

Castiel felt his lips curling upwards, much against his will. “Yes, Meg,” he told her. “Yes she was. Thank you for saving my life.”

She winked at him. “What, and lose the prettiest angel to ever top a tree?” 

He frowned. “I do not understand. I have never sat on top of a tree, nor has any of my brethren to the best of my knowledge. Although I must admit that today’s events prove that I do not know my brothers and sisters as well as I believed that I did.” She laughed and shook her head. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He obeyed. It was only right, since she had saved his life and all.


	9. I've Been Away For Too Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean witnesses a Very Special Moment. Sam takes a bath. Castiel gets a new job.

Geez, they’d told him that the Apocalypse had been prevented or pushed off or whatever but with all these angels and demons making out all over the place it definitely didn’t seem that way to Dean. That was one of the signs of the Apocalypse, right? Or maybe not? Maybe it was just a line from _Ghostbusters_? He shook his head. “We need to do something about the bodies,” he pointed out. “Guys? Bodies? Probably not something you want in the back yard?” 

Sammy staggered to his feet. The kid looked like he’d been hit by a truck, no lie. “Yeah. Uh, right. Sorry. Let me see, there’s a tarp in the basement.” Sammy looked awful, just terrible but hey, he’d been shot and almost died only what, two days ago? And then went and tried to do some more of his freaky mind crap? Pulling an angel out of its vessel was apparently harder than pulling demons out of people, then. Well, small favors, or maybe not. 

“Sit down, Sam,” he ordered. “I’m pretty sure between Jake and me we can find a tarp. I promise not to go through and draw moustaches on your Christmas decorations, alright?” 

Sam being Sam, though, he couldn’t just take an order even if it was for his own good. He lurched over to the corpses and squatted down beside them. “Huh. What’s this?” He gingerly ran a finger under a gold chain around Uriel’s vessel’s neck. 

“Looting the dead now, Sammy? Would’ve expected better of you and I have to say that the gold chain thing never really struck me as your style either but hey –“ Dean cut himself off as his brother pulled the chain out from where it had been tucked under Uriel’s shirt. A pendant hung from that chain, a pendant like a small glass vial. In that vial swirled a glowing blue mass, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat when he looked at it. “What is that?” 

“It’s Grace,” Sam whispered. “It’s another angel’s Grace. He was holding it captive for some reason. Look at it, Dean. It’s so…. It’s so pure!” His eyes shone, like he might cry or something. Dean hoped he wouldn’t. He was barely holding it together himself. 

“It’s Anael’s grace,” Castiel identified. “I would know her anywhere. But why would Uriel have it?” 

Because that was the biggest concern here, not the two corpses in Sammy’s backyard or Sammy himself staggering around like he’d drank every keg dry at Oktoberfest. “I don’t know,” Meg frowned. “But it belongs to her, don’t you think?” 

Dean squirmed. He liked Anna. Anna was a sweet human girl, even if she was making a terrible choice in terms of bed partners. With her grace Anna became not only a monster but a monster with her memories, a disobedient soldier. Dean was bound to have issues with that. Still, right was right. You didn’t just take a part of a person away from them. “It should be her choice, anyway,” he agreed. “Ruby, you want to go grab your girlfriend?” 

Ruby hesitated, but went went back indoors. Dean guessed he could understand why she might hold back. If Anna went back to being Anael there was no way she would want Ruby anymore. Demons and angels didn’t mix. Demons and humans who used to be angels maybe, but demons and actual, wings-and-halos-and-harps angels? Not a chance, even if Meg did like to scratch Cas behind the ears and give him belly rubs. That was different; Cas was kind of defective that way anyway. Still, she was going back to get her girlfriend so maybe a demon could do something that went against what she wanted for herself? Dad must be spinning in his grave, or maybe it was a sign of the Apocalypse after all. 

Sam carefully took the necklace off of Uriel’s body and handed it over to Dean before backing away, as far away as he could get. Because that wasn’t weird at all. Of course he guessed that the kid was entitled to a little weird, after everything. 

“I will handle the bodies, Dean,” Castiel informed. He gestured, and both corpses were rendered to ash in a moment. 

Dean blinked. “All right then,” he said after a moment. “I guess I’m kind of superfluous now.” 

“They were my friends, Dean. My siblings.” Cas turned to face him. “Can you begin to understand that?” 

“I can understand that they showed up here trying to kill you, dude. But okay.” He held up his hands. 

Fortunately this was the point at which Anna and Ruby emerged from the house, preventing any further argument. The former looked nervous; the latter looked only at the ground but held Anna’s hand so tight that her fingers turned red. Anna stopped short when she saw two sets of scorched wings on the ground, but Ruby took her arm. “It’s okay, babe,” she murmured in the fallen angel’s ear. “They weren’t here for you.” 

“Cas isn’t going to hurt you either,” Sam promised, forcing himself upright. “He gave his word – you’re safe from him until this whole thing is over. Right, Cas?” He met the angel’s eye, and for crying out loud even Dean could see how shaky he was right now but Cas still swallowed and nodded. 

“Yes. I promised Sam that I would not harm you. You are safe from me, sister.” He offered a sad little smile. “Enough angels have been slain today.”

“I’m not an angel anymore,” she pointed out. 

Dean cleared his throat. “You could be again. If, you know, you wanted to.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Grace.

She gasped. “How?” Her eyes shone and she took several steps forward, almost as if she were being pulled toward her Grace. Sam looked away as Anna’s hand reached out involuntarily. “Where did you find this?” she whispered.

“Uriel apparently had it. He had it when he died, anyway. How long he had it before then I couldn’t say,” Sam intervened. “It’s yours, Anna. What you choose to do with it is up to you, too.” 

“If you take it back into yourself you’ll no longer be human,” Castiel pointed out. “But you will be better able to defend yourself against those who would do you harm.” 

She took a deep breath. “Ruby?” 

The demon shook her head. “Oh no no no. Don’t put this on me. I can’t be responsible for you deciding how to deal with your own Grace – that’s so far outside my area of expertise that it’s not even funny.” She dropped her lover’s hand, slowly. “A demon has no business getting involved with Grace.” No one spoke, no one dared even breathe. Anna squeezed Ruby’s hands as she closed her eyes and contemplated. 

“Okay.” She opened her eyes, reached out and took the necklace from Dean. “You should probably close your eyes. And, uh, the demons probably should, uh, go inside or something.” Dean watched as Ruby and Meg retreated indoors. Sam followed, head hanging a little bit, and Dean’s sadness was so strong it was a physical ache in his chest. 

He turned to Cas. “Sam’s not a demon.”

“I wonder if he knows that, sometimes,” the angel told him with a sigh. “You should close your eyes now.” 

Dean obeyed. Even with his eyes closed he could still see spots from the intensity of the light, like staring into the sun. It hurt, but with Castiel’s help he could probably make it through. After a few minutes the light and the pressure eased and Cas patted him on the back; he could open his eyes again. Anna stood before him, stance mostly the same. 

Ruby emerged from the house, inching slowly from around the door. The women stood, staring at each other for a good minute. This was the end, then. There was no possible way that the two could stay together. Ruby had said it herself. The Grace made the pairing impossible. Anna blinked at Ruby. “I know you didn’t want me to take the Grace, Ruby, but I had to. I couldn’t risk someone using it for something evil, or… or... “ She looked away. “I’m sorry you can’t love me anymore.”

“Seriously? I’ll love you if you’re human, I’ll love you if you’re an angel. I’ll love you if you become a vampire or a werewolf or something completely different. Okay?” She kissed Anna’s lips gently, almost chastely. “Whatever you decide, Anna, you’ll still be you. And I’ll always love you.” Ruby smiled and reached out, hand shaking, and took Anna’s back. 

Dean had not seen that coming. 

Anna and Anael were fused now, although she preferred to go by Anna. In some ways she seemed a little more angelic. She stared just as much as Cas did, which was creepy as all Hell but seemed to be a family trait. She didn’t sleep or eat, but she continued to have a strong taste for coffee and for French fries. The fear that she’d had had evaporated entirely. For the most part, though, she was no different from the Anna that all of the psychics had come to know and love. Her relationship with Ruby didn’t change at all. The only complaint Anna seemed to have about her situation was that Sam seemed to avoid her like plague, but Jess and Dean could only give her sad looks and shake their heads. Some things couldn’t be fixed, or at least couldn’t be fixed while they tried to save the world from Lilith. 

Having two full-powered angels on their side certainly changed things. For the most part those things changed for the better. As Lilith’s minions went on the offensive they were able to provide twice as much support and healing. They were able to monitor the Petaluma church twice as closely and Anna proved able to “encourage” the production of the deep-sea box to move faster. Of course that required moving up their timeline and coming up with a plan. They had the beginnings of a plan – get the thing, put the thing at the bottom of the sea – but how that was actually going to happen was still far too up in the air for anyone’s comfort and moving up the timeline didn’t exactly solve the problem either.

Sam, of course, had an idea. It was a shitty idea. Dean told him it was a shitty idea, Jess told him it was a shitty idea, and if he and Jess agreed on something then it had to be right. Right? He wanted to bring the damn thing down there himself. Well, not himself, he wanted an angel to bring him down there. Because that made it so much freaking better. “I don’t care what kind of freaky powers you have, Sam,” Dean objected, arms crossed over his chest, “last time I heard you still needed to breathe air. And I know damn well you can still die, because you almost did when Gordon Walker shot you.” 

Sam had just rolled his eyes. “That’s what the angel is for, Dean.” 

Hell, even the demons were saying that they didn’t like the idea – it might work, but it might not, and “I’m not willing to lose you in this fight if I don’t have to, little brother,” and God but it bugged Dean to hear Meg call Sammy that. The other psychic kids also hated the idea. In fact, the only ones who liked it were the angels and Sam himself, which would have been hilarious under just about any other circumstances. “It is a risk,” Cas admitted, “and not an insignificant one. But the risk in not dealing with this problem is far larger.”

“Dean,” Anna told him softly. “It’s Sam’s choice.”

“Like Hell it is!” he exploded. “What would you know about it anyway? You took off – you ran away from Heaven, just like he did! He doesn’t get a choice about just throwing himself into the goddamn Mariana Trench to get rid of some hunk of junk on some stupid mission for a Heaven that never had much use for him in the first place, okay? No, it’s not his choice.” 

Everyone in the room stared at Dean. “Well, I mean first of all he didn’t ‘run away,’ he was kicked out,” Andy commented. “Bit of a difference there.”

“And you know secondly, no matter what, it is his choice because it’s his body.” Ruby shrugged. “I may be a demon and we might be a little iffy on those kinds of things but I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s supposed to work.” 

“Thirdly,” Sam continued, glancing at his unexpected backup, “You know, it’s not like we’ve got any other workable plans.” 

“Then we wait until we come up with one!” Dean roared, hands balled into fists by his side. “I’m not going to just stand by and let you get killed for this, Sammy! For them!” 

Bobby sighed. “It didn’t stop you last time,” he pointed out. 

“What?” “You knew your brother was taken by demons the last time and you wouldn’t lift a finger to help get him out. Now you’re all about the brotherly love?” He shook his head. “Bobby, that was different –“ 

“It really wasn’t,” Jess objected with a glare. “I’m not willing to lose him again. I don’t really think you get to make choices for him now considering that you hung him out to dry –“ 

“Hey. Enough.” Sam’s voice cut through the din, startling everyone as he put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Let’s not get caught up in the past here. Yes, stuff was bad before. Very bad. But it got better, right? And we’ve had a chance to get together again, right Dean? See each other, catch up?” His smile only looked a little forced. “So let’s try to think about this reasonably. I’m not going into this looking to not come back out. I’m just the one who’s the most likely to be able to come back out, alright? Between all of the…changes, and the other stuff, with an angel helping me to get down to the bottom of the trench I should be okay. It’s not like we can go hotwire a deep-sea exploration vessel, right?” 

“Are you sure?” Dean spat.

“I did look into it,” Jess snorted. “Trust me. It’s not like they just blend in with all the other cars on the street, you know? They kind of cause a ruckus when they go missing.” “So that’s it then,” Dean snarled. “We’re just going to send my little brother into the Abyss and hope for the best.”

“Well since you’re calling me that it’s already working out better than I’d hoped,” Sam grinned.

*

The box was ready on a Thursday. Once they had the box the only step left was to go ahead and fetch the artifact. This needed to be done very carefully, so they made their plan and decided to go on Friday night. Thursday night Sam made his preparations. He tried to keep things as normal as possible, but the others weren’t hearing of it. They insisted on treating it like a damn wake, and he supposed that he could see their point to some extent. He intended to survive, he was the most likely to survive, but that didn’t make his survival likely.

So he let them take him out for a nice-ish dinner at his favorite vegetarian restaurant. Dean didn’t even complain about the food, although he side-eyed the hell out of Sam’s tofu. He let them put in his favorite movie, or at least the favorite movie they could all stand to watch, after they got finished with their briefing. When Jess brought him up to their room he didn’t object when she gently took off his clothes and softly laid him down on the bed, even though right now the thought of what could happen tomorrow meant the thought of what had come before was always just behind his eyelids. He could give no sign, because if he did die in the process of trying to get rid of this … thing, whatever it was… he wanted their memories to be as happy as possible. So he lay back and pretended, and when they were finished he clutched her to himself to warm his body back up again and called it cuddling. It worked. 

The next evening, they approached they went to Petaluma. Castiel, Anna, Ruby and Meg waited outside the church. Jake, Scott and Jo stood guard inside the church while Sam, Dean and Jess went into the crypt to retrieve it. Sam’s nerves were tighter than guitar strings. He could feel demons around the perimeter, more than just Meg and Ruby, but he couldn’t let them distract him. Meg was ancient, Ruby less so but no less skilled. He wondered if they shouldn’t have brought Bela instead of just consulting with her, but even the demons didn’t trust her. They would be fine, if Sam did his job right. He just had to focus. 

Getting into the crypt required spilling a small amount of blood onto a sigil carved into the stone. All three entrants made a small cut to their arm and bled onto the etching; only then did a door even appear. That door, of course, required a crowbar and plenty of WD-40, which they’d had the foresight to bring with them. Sometimes it helped to have precognitives on board. Once that small step had been completed they were in the crypt. 

The room was everything Sam’s visions had promised. Wards covered every inch of the walls, from the ceiling to the floor. The remains of the monk who had made the wards were still slumped in the corner, although they crumpled into dust as soon as the first hint of air touched them. They did good airtight sealing back in the day, Sam thought to himself as he looked around. “Is that… it?” Jess pointed to the only object in the room, other than the pile of dust that had once been a monk who might or might not have been a Man of Letters.

The object was a wooden goblet, probably turned on a lathe (not that Sam was any kind of an expert, not at all), not too big and not too small. There didn’t seem to be anything fancy about it other than its obvious great age. The interior showed that it had been used to contain a red liquid at some point, darkened by age to an almost-black color. Dean gasped. “Holy shit!” 

“Wine or blood,” Sam corrected automatically. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “’Wine or blood,’” he repeated in a high-pitched voice. “That’s… that’s the Grail. Like… the Grail.” 

Sam’s hands shook as he reached out and grabbed the chalice. To be honest he half expected to be struck down for touching such a sacred object with his profane hands, but that didn’t happen. As he laid it reverently into the curse box inside the deep-sea box, he almost felt cleaner somehow. Right – because a piece of wood, no matter who had touched it, could make something like him clean. “Alright, we’re running short on time here.” He took off his watch and handed it to his brother. He took off his wedding ring and handed it to his wife. “Cas, Anna, whichever of you is doing this, I’m ready.” He locked the case.

“What’s all this?” Jess demanded, looking at the ring in shock. 

“Sam is likely to come out of the ocean with few injuries,” Castiel informed them from the doorway of the crypt. Sam kissed Jess and went to the angel. “Those jewelry items are unlikely to be as resilient. I can’t imagine that he would wish his wedding band destroyed.” 

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam smiled quickly at the shorter man. Cas looked a little rough around the edges. “How are things out there?” 

“When you and I have left this place they will improve.” He grabbed Sam and the pair were gone. 

There was no adjustment period. One moment he was just outside the crypt and the next he was in the ocean, sinking down into a darkness so profound that his eyes were rendered useless for a moment. The cold, this far away from the sun, reminded him of his time in Lucifer’s tender care and for a moment he fought. He couldn’t help himself. Icy water entered his mouth, his nose and his lungs, increasing his panic. _You must calm yourself, Sam._ Castiel’s voice echoed in his head. _I am not the Lightbringer. Do not lose your grip on the box; I cannot help you regain it._

Right. The box. How was he even breathing with his lungs full, anyway? 

_I am handling that for you. Try not to think about it._

That was easy for Castiel to say. He’d never had control over his body taken away. But he was helping; he was connecting with an unclean thing like Sam to help save the world. Sam needed to calm himself, not lash out. Right. He should focus on what he could control, like sight. The human part of his eyes couldn’t see, in fact was already being affected by the pressure and they weren’t even halfway to their destination yet. The demonic side of his eyes, though, that side was doing just fine. Not that there was a lot down here to see. His own hair. Castiel’s Grace, keeping him whole as the pressure from the ocean threatened to rip him apart. A couple of near-invisible things that he couldn’t quite identify, inching by. 

It took the better part of forty-five minutes but finally Castiel set them down. _The bottom part of the deepest part of the Mariana Trench_ , he identified, once again not speaking aloud. What would be the point down here? _Leave your burden, Sam Winchester_. He wanted to protest; that hadn’t been his name in years. But he put the box down; making sure it was lodged in nice and tight. 

When he went to remove his hands from the box, however, he found that they would not move. **You didn’t really think that it would be that easy, did you, Sam?**

Oh God it was Him. That voice, he hadn’t heard it in years but he hadn’t needed to. He could have gone for another thousand years without hearing the Lightbringer and he’d have recognized his angelic “mentor” anywhere. The voice had never had a physical tone, it had never required one. Lucifer had only ever spoken directly into Sam’s mind, although he’d liked to see the effect of his cold breath on Sam’s skin. “What are you doing?” he asked. He intended to sound intimidating, but there wasn’t much that a cambion thing like him could do to intimidate a creature such as Lucifer. 

**Reminding you of your place, Sam. You belong to me. You are MINE. You don’t serve Heaven.**

“No,” he admitted. He did not serve Heaven, and Heaven wouldn’t have had him even if he wanted to. He was too low, lower than a human.

**You don’t serve Man, either. You serve ME. We’ve been over this, Sam. I didn’t think you needed to re-learn the lesson.**

Sam cried out as pain lanced through him. “What is it that you even want from me? We’re keeping the thing from Lilith. It’s what you wanted, too!” 

**But the Grail, Sam? You think I wouldn’t want something that could kill archangels? Several of them?** The pain washed through him again, hitting every nerve in his body. **You will bring it home to me, Sam.**

“No.” 

**What, do you think that the fledgling looking like a confused badger is going to help you with this? You will bring the Grail home to me, Sam. You are MY vessel, I gave you My Grace, it’s the only thing allowing you to survive as much as you are &ndash**

“I said no!” Sam groaned out as he felt his body catch fire. Something, some fresh power, flowed into him. It felt for all the world like love, like love and trust and faith, and somewhere on the back note it even had hints of Dean on it. He closed his eyes and focused his brain. It wasn’t real – none of it was real. Perhaps Lucifer’s voice was real, but that was all. Lucifer couldn’t harm him if Sam didn’t allow it. He focused his energy and pushed outward with everything he had. 

_Sam?_ Castiel’s mental voice was urgent, terrified. _Sam, I couldn’t feel you or reach you. Are you well?_

Sam managed to remove his hands from the box containing the Grail. It did not move. He nodded, beyond exhaustion.

_Let’s bring you home._

The next sensation Sam felt was the world exploding in more pain, and then nothing. 

*

Castiel had believed that Sam was relatively stable as they entered the water and they would only need to worry about keeping his frail human (human-ish) body together during the descent. He began to feel some concern when the cold of the deep sea began to trigger some unpleasant sensations in his partner and he came dangerously close to panic himself; angels do not handle the unknown well, possibly because it happens so rarely. _Calm him down, Castiel_ , Anna ordered in his mind. _He’s flashing back and coming close to a panic attack._

Castiel relayed the order into Sam’s mind, which had the desired effect. Dean seemed to feel that Sam was constitutionally incapable of following orders but here he obeyed without question. All worked as it should, however, until an alien sensation blocked all communication and even the sensation of Sam from his consciousness. He struggled in vain against the barrier, watching as Sam’s wild eyes became more and more frenzied and his body flailed. 

_What’s wrong?_ Anna demanded.

_I can’t reach Sam!_

Anna didn’t stop to ask questions, and Castiel was uncertain as to what she did. All at once, however, he felt the minds of everyone who lived with Sam in his nest of psychics. All of their energy, all of their power, all of their hope was channeled through Anna to him, not unlike the way angels channeled the power of Heaven. 

Castiel might not be able to hear Sam, or feel him, but he could see him. He reached out and put his hands on the terrified abomination. Sam’s frozen hands released the box; the vessel sank to the bottom of the trench and he turned to Castiel. His eyes were haunted, exhausted, but clear. The job was done; Castiel could bring him home. He flew him back to the house, not realizing that this was precisely the wrong thing to do. 

Sam collapsed with a shout, unconscious. Dean and Jess rushed to his side. “Jesus Christ, Cas,” the former yelled. “Haven’t you heard of the bends, dumbass?” 

Cas took stock of Sam’s condition and saw that he was indeed in dire straits. “My apologies. I was not aware that humans required time to… depressurize?” Castiel stared at Jessica. “Is that the appropriate term?” He explained as much as he understood of Lucifer’s attack on Sam, and how he thought said attack might have affected Sam’s illness. Why the Bride continued to blame Castiel was beyond his comprehension. Anna just shook her head and flew Sam up to his room. 

“The appropriate term,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “would be a husband who is awake and whole and not in pain, thank you very much.” 

Castiel was an angel of the Lord. He had faced down demons, monsters and even other angels, but he had never known fear such as he now knew facing down an angry Jessica Moore. 

“Anna and I will turns healing him,” he explained. “I have every reason to believe that he will be just fine.” 

“Cas, how about if you and I go and watch some Indiana Jones movies until you’re needed up here again?” Dean sighed. For a man who had never had a relationship that had lasted longer than four weeks, he seemed to understand the needs of his sister-in-law quite well. “Come on, man. Let’s go stay out of the way, huh?” 

It occurred to Castiel that Dean probably wanted to go stay with his brother too, if the shine to his bottle-green eyes was anything to go by, but he was offering to join Castiel to prevent him from angering the Bride further. Dean was a good friend. 

Castiel allowed himself to be guided back down to the living room, where the other psychics were more than happy to start with Raiders of the Lost Ark. Dean, Cas had noticed, had an exceptional fondness for films starring the one called Harrison Ford. Bobby Singer joined them after a while. It was, on the whole, an enjoyable way to spend an evening. 

They had won. They had succeeded, and without any losses to their side. There had been some injuries to be sure – Sam and his “supernatural Bends,” Jake had been stabbed, Jo shot – but nothing permanent, nothing that couldn’t be repaired. And yet somehow, Castiel still felt unresolved.

It took several days to heal Sam enough to wake him from his slumber. The first thing he did was to ask for his ring back and kiss his wife. He thanked the angels for healing him – as though they wouldn’t have done so, as though he hadn’t done Heaven a huge favor and as though he hadn’t been protecting Anna the entire time! – and shyly asked if his brother wanted to see him. 

Dean seemed almost offended by the idea that he wouldn’t want to see Sam, which just made Castiel shake his head. The brothers were meant to be together; he’d been ordered to get them back together and that was what he was going to do. He brought the older hunter right up to Sam’s room himself. “Heya Sammy,” he greeted. “You look like crap.”

“Nothing a little run won’t cure,” Sam scoffed.

“I think you can give the Iron Man workout a break for a few more days, there, sport,” Dean frowned. “You almost died. Anyone else would have died, Sam. Damn it, I almost lost you.” 

“It’s okay, Dean.” 

“No, it isn’t. You’re my brother, and we’ve been apart too long.” Dean sighed. “Look. I lost you before. I lost you a few times before. I lost you when you left and I mean, yeah, I still don’t approve of you leaving. But you did, and you know even Bela Freaking Talbot is sitting there telling me that Dad and I basically chased you away.” He held up a hand when Sam tried to speak. “And then I lost you when you went to Hell. And it’s been hard for me to really… accept that you didn’t feel safe enough to come home when you got out. But you didn’t, and I can kind of see why, even if I hate it. But Sam – I love you. You’re my brother, and even if I’m kind of uncomfortable with some stuff I’m never going to be okay with losing you, okay? I’m glad we’re back together, and I never want to lose you again.” 

Sam bit his lip. “So you’re okay with…” He gestured to the house. 

Dean rolled his eyes and grinned. “Gonna have to be, aren’t I? If I’m gonna stick around?” Sam threw his arms around his brother and squeezed.

“Thank you, Cas,” he said then. 

Angels are not supposed to startle, but Castiel jumped anyway. “For what, Sam?” 

“For bringing us back together. You gave me my big brother back.” 

He offered the angel a genuine, if exhausted, smile. Castiel felt honored by the gesture. 

Matters like making a report in Heaven still called for his attention. When he got there, however, he found himself reporting not to Zachariah but to Michael himself. “I require an explanation,” the archangel declared simply. “Angels were killed and you did not seek revelation.”

“I learned that angels had been corrupted by Lilith,” he explained. “I was uncertain as to how far the corruption went. My primary orders, sir, were to guard the Righteous Man, to reunite the brothers and to see to the disposition of the artifact. I have achieved all three.” He gave a brief explanation of events, uncertain as to how much the archangel already knew. 

“I see,” Michael stated. “I cannot be displeased with your performance, Castiel. Zachariah was compromised; he has been remanded to Heaven’s prison for… counseling. I could be happier about the decision to dispose of the Grail instead of returning it to Heaven but I suppose that I understand the choice.” He paused. “Tell me. The demon seeking to take Lilith’s place, Meg. Is she a good choice?”

Castiel blinked. “She is a demon, sir. But in terms of Heaven’s interests…” He considered. “She is Azazel’s daughter and a Lucifer loyalist, which means she is more likely to be a traditionalist and to be willing to maintain a balance with Heaven than to try something like what Lilith tried. Personally, I think she is much more amenable to negotiation and compromise than many demons.”

The barest hint of a smile graced the archangel’s lips. “Indeed. And Anna? Is she well?” 

“Very, sir.” 

“Then it is fitting that she continue to be well. I wish for you to continue to keep the Righteous Man in your charge. And his brother, and the other… psychics. They have done excellent work for Heaven; they merit special protection.” 

Castiel did not allow himself to show surprise. “Sir.” He did return to Earth immediately, because he had a job to do. 

Meg was still at the house when he got there, for which he was grateful. “I’m going to have to go take Lilith out, you know,” she told him. “She’ll just try something else. And this whole mess will eat away at her power base.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “Just… promise me that you’ll come back sometimes?” 

She laughed and kissed him. “Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?” 

He frowned. “I still don’t know who Clarence is.” She shook her head and kissed him again.


End file.
